Strict Conditions - 1995soulmates - 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys (2024)

Chapter 1: i.

Chapter Text

“That looks… f*ckin’ terrible.”

It’s a shame; Jimin doesn’t just mean the half-built set. He means the entire image in front of him. The unflattering, off-yellow glow of the spotlights, the models scurrying aimlessly back and forth like chickens without heads, his assistant directors, who apparently do not know how to assist or direct, barking nonsense—everything. It’s all just, for lack of better words, f*ckin’ terrible.

Jimin works best under pressure, but he refuses to navigate blindly through a sh*tstorm. The muscles in his shoulders are so tense they’re beginning to give him a headache. It’s either that or the stuffy air which now reeks, redolent of too-flowery perfume and sweat, singeing the lining of his nostrils.

Having seen enough, Jimin rolls his eyes and heads in the opposite direction. He can’t be here right now. At least, not while it’s still apparent that no one here knows what they’re doing. His head’s going to explode if he watches them any longer.

Figures he’ll hole up in his office for a while, substituting work with work. Maybe take another look at their budget, or finalize the incoming models’ contracts, or eye the rental agreement again because they have to do something about the lighting—

“Hey, um, Jimin?"

The voice is too sweet to be anyone other than Hoseok. Jimin has plenty of assistants that he hires periodically, especially traveling from country to country like this, but Hoseok is his personal assistant and best friend. And just about the only person Jimin trusts. For the past nine years or so, he’s been right by Jimin’s side.

Quickly, Hoseok catches his stride, and they begin walking together. He’s juggling two sliding clipboards, a pen, unraveling measuring tape, and what looks to be jewelry that’s either fallen off of someone’s outfit or someone’s ear. Jimin doesn’t want to know, so he doesn’t ask.

“I dunno what’s going on, but—” Hoseok hisses in a yell-whisper. Peeks over his shoulder to make sure the coast is clear before he finishes, “they’re horrible.”

Jimin’s able to force a dry laugh. “I know. That’s why I’m walking away. It’s either this or I’m breaking something.”

The set is always busy, but today it’s so packed, Jimin’s feeling claustrophobic. Usually, the set crew and the entire directing crew aren’t here simultaneously with the models. But there have been recent unexpected changes to their show, so it’s all hands on deck.

Hoseok sighs. Begins to say, “They’re just so ass-backward without—”

“Don’t even say his name,” Jimin warns, running a hand through his hair, moving it out of his eyes. The ends of his black strands fall back over his forehead despite his efforts, tangling with his eyelashes when he blinks. It’s a lost cause, just like everything else at this very moment. “He’s a jackass.”

It’s already a sh*tty day. The last thing Jimin wants to do is rehash his ex-lead model, who decided less than halfway through the tour that he wanted to drop out. No proper notice, nothing. Jimin had to find out from the other models that he left—he didn’t even hear it from him.

Something about it being too much stress. But—of course, there’s stress. Jimin doesn’t know what he expected when he signed on. This isn’t just one fashion show; it’s an international runway tour. The biggest names in design are featured in Jimin’s show, and he showcases their newest lines in a creative, innovative, forward-leaning way. It’s like a play without lines.

In order to allow as much press coverage as possible, they’re scheduled to hit all of the world’s major fashion capitals. They’re in New York City now, but the tour continues to London, Seoul, Paris, and Madrid. And in his twenty-nine years—five of them as a well-known fashion producer—Jimin’s never done anything this grandiose. So it has to be perfect.

There’s immense pressure on everyone, not just the lead. The whole tour has been getting an overwhelming amount of media coverage. Many of the models have been doing interviews and promoting. There are photoshoots to accompany each live show, new designers hopping on, and rehearsals for camera angles when the show is broadcasted live. It’s a lot, to say the least. Jimin always feels like he’s underwater, drowning.

“Hwayoung keeps missing her cue, Amber doesn’t know her left from her right, and Jae can’t walk straight to save his life,” Hoseok lists off on his fingers. “I don’t know what the hell happened to everyone, but—”

“I get it, hyung. They’re horrible.”

“—I’ll fix it,” Hoseok finishes pointedly, a squint to his eyes. He adjusts the mess of items in his grasp and says, “They just need a little more guidance. Some reassurance that we aren’t a sinking ship without he-who-shall-remain-nameless." He takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Calm, settled. Says, "I got this.”

This is why the two of them work so well together. Hoseok keeps him grounded, keeps him on track. Like his personal compass, always guiding him toward the true north. Admittedly, Jimin is hot-blooded. Hoseok tells him it’s because he’s a Libra, but Jimin thinks it’s because he too often feels like the only one with a working brain. It’s hard to think for hundreds of people at once. It gets frustrating.

But that frustration is rooted in dedication and passion. Jimin hasn’t gotten to where he is in the industry by not being passionate. He had a slow start, just like everyone else, but his persistence and drive are what allowed him to propel his name into the market. Nowadays, he has representatives from top companies such as Ralph Lauren, Chanel, and McQueen reaching out to him, wanting to be featured in his shows. It’s an honor.

“I mean, who the f*ck does that?! Drops out without even telling me? Asshole,” Jimin spits out, talking about it anyway. He can’t help it; he’s still furious.

He runs another hand through his hair, tugging just for a moment at his roots. Nervous habit. Subconsciously self-soothing. Unfortunately, it’s not helping right now.

They enter a new form of chaos: the dressing room. It’s brighter in here; the overhead lighting is accompanied by the white bulbs around each individual mirror. Back here, the models featured in the second half of the show are fumbling with their outfits and makeup. Just like out front, it’s too loud and too messy. Jimin’s headache persists.

“We’ll be fine,” Hoseok supplies passively, the dismissive tilt to his voice implying what a wave of his hand would’ve. Then, “I checked in all the items of the Saint Laurent shipment. No issues. I’ll have them tailored today. We’re still swapping out Versace, right?”

The scent of what’s distinctively burnt hair wafts around Jimin’s nose, making his face twist. He watches the makeup artists blend and contour hurriedly on a model’s cheekbone while the wardrobe crew tries to get his measurements. It looks like a circus. They’re all clowns.

Refocusing his attention back on Hoseok, he asks, “Do you think we should swap Versace for Saint Laurent?”

Jimin has an eye for the bigger picture—the production, the music, the lighting, the angles, the spacing—but ultimately, Hoseok has an eye for the clothing. He has a talent for mixing two pieces together that are polar opposites and making them work. He’s fantastic with color schemes and finding items that tell the story better than Jimin’s music choice and set designs ever could.

“Fits the vibe better,” Hoseok says with a shrug.

That’s all Jimin needs to know. Full trust. Says, “Then yes, swap them out, please.”

There’s a yell. More like a shriek, actually. Then the very distinct sound of glass smacking against the ground. Everyone gasps and then freezes, like following a script.

Dead silence blankets the room almost eerily, and then everyone’s looking at Jimin, anticipating a reaction. Seventy-five deers caught in headlights. Jimin squeezes his eyes closed so tight he’s beginning to see static. At his sides, his hands are balled into fists, nails digging into his palms. He takes in a sharp breath and holds it.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Jimin grumbles through his teeth.

“I’ll fix it,” Hoseok tells him.

Jimin speaks too calmly to be calm, nearing the end of his rope. “Hyung, if that was a vanity mirror and now we have to pay for—”

“I’ll fix it.”

Slowly, everyone returns to their tasks. Brushes go back to sweeping bronzer across poreless skin and sewing machines rev their engines; the chatter picks back up. Faintly, Jimin hears someone ask for a broom. He groans.

“Take a break, yeah?” Hoseok prompts. His hands still aren’t free, so he rests his forehead against Jimin’s instead. Just this brief touch from Hoseok makes Jimin begin to relax, slowly loosening the tension in his back. Whispers, “Have a drink. You need it.”

Jimin huffs. “It’s like—noon.”

But Hoseok’s already walking away, making a beeline toward whatever disaster happened on the other end of the dressing room. He calls back over his shoulder, “Six o’clock in Paris, Jimin-ah!”

For the first time today, Jimin smiles for real.

✢

A closet is a better description of Jimin’s office in this warehouse. It’s different each time, the place they use is always a rental, and sometimes his designated workspace is roomy with ample shelves and legroom.

This office, however, makes him feel like the walls are caving in. A depressing pale blue paint, worn wooden furniture, a window that doesn't open properly. Everything in this office has a weird smell to it, and he cringes at the thought of how many people used it before him—and what they did in here.

He’s sure it doesn’t help that his desk is cluttered with papers and fabric samples and post-it note messages from the main phone that won’t stop ringing. Too many people want his attention, tugging him back and forth. He thinks his shoulders are going to pop out of their sockets soon.

Even if Jimin was going to sneak in an afternoon vodka shot, he doesn’t have enough alone time to do it. No more than fifteen minutes back here before someone is pounding on his door. Not a knock, a pound.

Then a nervous voice calls, “Mr. Park? I’m sorry. Are you—uh, can you come out here, please?”

With his head in his hands, Jimin calls back, “What is it?”

He tries to keep the annoyance out of his tone because he can tell it’s his other assistant, Jeremy, calling him. New York native, hired just for the North American stint of the tour.

He’s a nice guy, well-intentioned. Apparently learned Korean phrases to be respectful, and Jimin can’t help but smile whenever he adorably speaks the language a bit brokenly. He’s quiet and usually keeps to himself. So there must be a good reason he’s here, beckoning Jimin from the other side of the door.

“Uh, well,” Jeremy starts in English like he doesn’t know how to frame the current situation. Luckily for him, Jimin’s well-versed in many languages, including English. He’s picked up what he needs to get by in just about any country he works in. Jeremy clears his throat and says emptily again, “Well—”

Tired of whatever game they’re playing, Jimin opens the door and asks, more concerned than bothered now, “What?”

The poor kid has to be no more than twenty-one, saucers for eyes, clutching his notebook to his chest like a shield. He shifts his weight from one leg to another like Jimin’s gaze is burning him down to the pads of his feet. He tells him a little too vaguely, “Someone’s here, sir.”

Undoubtedly, the lift of Jimin’s eyebrow is enough to imply that he should continue. But when he does, he’s still just as painfully vague. Says, “Sir, can you just—”

Wordlessly, as to not displace his anger, Jimin steps past Jeremy with an intentional lack of eye contact and makes his way back toward the dressing room. He hears the commotion before he sees it—voices a little too raised to be friendly, impatient curves to their tones, overlapping almost frantically. Jimin feels his shoulders tensing up again.

The crowd of silhouettes, backlit by the soft white hues of the bulbs lining the vanity mirrors, opens up like a gate when Jimin arrives. Troubled expressions accompanied by frustrated eyes of his models greet Jimin coldly as he steps into the circle.

For no reason in particular, Jimin’s questioning gaze falls on Jeongguk—second-year model, innocent doe eyes that the magazines can’t get enough of, and a waist-to-shoulder proportion that’d make anyone’s head spin. He’s standing directly across from where Jimin is, shirtless, with a caramel-colored silk blouse draping over his forearm.

“What?” Jimin questions, eye contact still fixed on Jeongguk. His mouth falls open to speak, his tongue clicking audibly, clearly hesitant.

Instead, a voice Jimin’s unfamilIar with cuts in, “None of these airheads seem to know where my dressing room is.”

So quickly Jimin feels the strain in his neck, he turns with a twisted look surely etched onto his face. Spits out in defense of his models before he even looks, “Yeah? And who the hell are you?”

And then he feels a little silly because… actually, he knows exactly who this is.

“You don’t know who I am?”

There’s a roll of dark eyes to follow, bored and annoyed, that Jimin bites the inside of his lip to ensure no outward reaction to it.

Kim Taehyung’s reputation infamously precedes him. But he seems to be living right up to the unflattering rumors and disgruntled whispers passed on from one set to another. Jimin has no idea why he’s standing smack in the middle of his set, duffle bag hanging off of his shoulder, shifting impatiently, ruffling the back of his hair.

Jimin doesn’t know how he didn’t spot him right away. Maybe it’s because, on a modeling set, beautiful faces are the standard, but Taehyung surely sticks out for more reasons than one now that Jimin’s taken notice of him. Something about his aura screams to be the center of attention, positive or negative, so suddenly, the crowd gathered around him seems almost fitting.

He’s not just pretty, though; he’s gorgeous. Jimin will give him that. But Taehyung’s golden ratio is irrelevant because he and his bad attitude aren’t supposed to be here. There’s no way in a million years Jimin would’ve signed his contract.

Knowing that playing dumb will surely poke a pinhole in Taehyung’s inflated ego, Jimin blinks and says, “I have no idea who you are, and that’s because I didn’t hire you. You’re on the wrong set. So please stop harassing my models and lea—”

“You’re Park Jimin, right?” Taehyung asks, perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowing as he squints at the paper in his hand. Cuts his eyes at Jimin and adds, “Under the Lights Runway Tour?”

A bit taken aback, Jimin starts, “Yes, but—”

“So then you hired me,” Taehyung concludes sharply, small flames behind his pupils. He hands Jimin the thin stack of stapled papers, but it’s with enough force that it feels like a shove. Mumbles as Jimin turns it right side up, “You’re all airheads.”

The papers in Jimin’s hand ruffle loudly, silence seeping into their circle like a leaking pipe. Everyone’s watching. Quickly, his eyes skim the document and—it’s his. At least, it looks like it. Resembles the contract he sends out when signing on a new model: exact font, verbiage, spacing, everything.

Jimin doesn’t bother to even flip through until the last page. He gives the (surely) counterfeit contract back. Uses an equal amount of force and attitude in which it was given to him, and watches the pages crumple as Taehyung instinctively clutches it against his chest.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re in the wrong place. You can leave. Now, ” Jimin directs, trying to end whatever this is before it turns into an actual argument. He runs a professional business, not an unemployment office or health clinic. They don’t take walk-ins.

There’s an attempt to leave. Jimin turns his back and gets no more than four steps before he hears Taehyung say, “So why the hell would your rep call me today and tell me to be here at 1 p.m. then? Why’s my agent out front finalizing the terms of the deal?”

Usually, something like this wouldn’t bother Jimin. Mix-ups happen, humans make mistakes. But this isn’t a mix-up, and for some reason, this particular human happens to get on Jimin’s last nerve quicker than most people do. It doesn’t help at all that he’s already having a bad day, either.

“I don’t know!” Jimin calls back, a near-wild gesture to accompany. A little loud, a lot unprofessional. He feels the skin between his fingers pulling taut with stress. He walks back toward Taehyung and counts off on his fingers, “I don’t know why you have that contract, I don’t know why your agent is out front, and I don’t know why you’re here, because I didn’t hire you!”

And before Taehyung can say anything, a too-familiar voice is yelling from across the gigantic room in a panic, “I did! Jimin, it’s okay, I did!”

The only thing Hoseok is carrying now is the daggers Jimin’s eyes are shooting at him. He’s out of breath when he comes to a stop, the expression on his face resembling one of a toddler caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.

His shoulders deflate as he tells Jimin, words just below his breath, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, I’m definitely surprised,” Jimin responds sarcastically.

Hoseok’s giggle is a forced one. More like a soft push of air scraped from the corners of his lungs. Swallows and continues, “We need a lead model. Taehyung’s in New York for a while for promotions and stuff, so I figured…”

Jimin lifts his eyebrows at him, eyes widening with the gesture like he’s daring him to finish the sentence.

Sheepishly, Hoseok ends with, “...it’d be a win/win?”

The thick silence between them is enough to let Hoseok know that Jimin has many choice words, but none that he’s going to speak aloud in front of everyone. Instead, he sucks in a slow deep breath through his nose—deep enough for his lungs to feel like balloons reaching maximum capacity—and then just… says nothing.

He lets out the breath slowly, giving in. Hoseok rubs his back apologetically, shooting a weak smile in Taehyung’s direction. He looks completely underwhelmed. Jimin has the passing thought that maybe he’ll quit before they can even put him to work.

“Taehyung-ah,” a slow, deep voice calls. “Everything alright?”

Legs catch Jimin’s eyes first. Thin, slightly bowed at the knees, clad in tight black dress pants. If they were longer, they’d be perfect for the runway. It’s a nice walk.

Jimin traces the legs down to shiny loafers with a heel on them that clacks as he walks. Then, his gaze trails upward until he’s locked with almond, cat-like eyes. One dangling earring sways back and forth like a pendulum, fighting for Jimin’s attention.

“I think so,” Taehyung says, a roll of his eyes to follow. He looks back at the man, then over in Jimin and Hoseok’s direction. Asks, “Right? All good now?”

Hoseok answers for them both. He puts on his professional smile and his customer service voice and tells them, “Just a little miscommunication, but it’s all smoothed out now. Let’s uh—find you a makeup table, yeah? Get you settled in?”

Taehyung looks almost pained at the slow realization that he’s in the dressing room and doesn’t get one of his own. He follows Hoseok only after a worried glance back at who Jimin assumes is his agent. He shoos Taehyung onward like a parent would encourage their kindergartner on the first day of school. Jimin nearly cracks a smile.

When they're gone, a hand a few shades off from milk-white is outstretched in front of him. And it stuns Jimin for two reasons. One, they’re both Korean, Jimin can tell, so if he were expecting anything from him—which he wasn’t—it’d be a bow. But they’re in the United States, and so the custom is a handshake. Two, the hardened look in his eye that Jimin took notice of a moment ago is gone. Softer now, almost friendly.

“Min Yoongi.”

Expensive silver bracelets jingle around his thin wrist, collecting at the base of his hand. His index finger twitches, hanging awkwardly in the air alone, when Jimin takes a second too long to reciprocate.

“Park Jimin,” he tells him a beat too late.

They shake once, firm and quick, then slide their hands into their pockets. There’s silence for a few moments as they watch their surroundings together. Models quickly dressing and undressing, curling irons twirling in overused hair, brushes painting a flawless finish on already near-flawless people.

“We’ve, uh, heard a lot of great things about your shows,” Yoongi starts, forcing the bland-tasting small talk. He rocks back onto his two-inch heels and adds when his toes smack the floor, “Glad to join the team.”

Jimin wishes he’d heard great things about Min Yoongi’s client. Kim Taehyung is a rising star. Jimin knows that. And he also knows that the buzz surrounding his show is sure to skyrocket once word gets out that Taehyung’s joined as the lead.

But Jimin doesn’t live under a rock, and he’s heard the rumors about him. How he’s a nightmare to work with, has a sour attitude, and is the modern definition of a prima-donna. Doesn’t take suggestions, doesn’t take constructive criticism. He’s almost known more for his friction with photographers, directors, and interviewers off-camera than he is for his beautiful work on-camera.

Because Jimin’s seen his work—his magazine covers, his billboards, his runway shows, his photoshoots. Taehyung’s work is impressive, and he knows how to work the camera. Jimin can also admit that, but he isn’t sure if the risk is worth it. His team has been through enough lately. They don’t need Taehyung throwing them more off-track.

Despite his thoughts, Jimin remains civil. Says, “Glad to have you.”

Jimin’s lying. And by the tight-lipped smirk painted onto Yoongi’s face, he knows it too.

✢

Hoseok’s holding his hands up like Jimin has a shotgun aimed at his head. He nudges the door closed with his heel and says, “I know. I should’ve told you.”

“Hyung, what the f*ck?”

Somehow, the chatter outside still seeps into the tiny office despite the door being shut. So Hoseok takes a big step away from it, providing distance between them and any listening ears. When they're toe to toe, he yell-whispers, for what feels like the thirtieth time, “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”

Jimin’s laugh is as stiff as his back. He licks his lips and says, “A nice surprise is you cutting a deal with Prada, so they’ll join the tour. Or teaching Amber to walk with her shoulders straight finally. Or—” Jimin waves his hand a bit manically. “I dunno, hyung, buying me a goddamn coffee first thing in the morning. That’s a nice surprise. Not hand-delivering me the industry’s newest Satan’s spawn!”

Honestly, Jimin doesn’t mean to yell. He never yells at Hoseok and hates raising his voice at anyone. But as Jimin said, he’s hot-blooded. Short-tempered. Especially when he’s preparing for the fashion tour of his life and everything so far has gone to sh*t. The truth is, he’s stressed. He’s never felt this type of pressure before.

Sensing that, like the fantastic hyung he is, Hoseok takes hold of Jimin’s shoulders and tells him calmly, “You’re stressed out.” Jimin sighs, eyes falling shut. Hoseok continues, “Having a replacement lead is going to alleviate some of that stress. They carry a huge part of the show.”

“No, I agree,” Jimin says, barely opening his mouth to speak. His jaw feels tight, stress-ridden. “I just don’t want this lead.”

When Jimin opens his eyes, he recognizes what seems to be disappointment in Hoseok’s gaze. Letting his hands drop from Jimin’s shoulders, Hoseok asks, “Since when are you one to judge a book by its cover?”

“Since that book’s horrible reviews are all over the news!” Jimin nearly whines. He rubs his temples and says, “Look, hyung, I appreciate what you’ve tried to do but—Kim Taehyung? I know you’ve heard what everyone says about him too. I don’t have time to babysit.”

Back in school, Jimin’s friends used to call Hoseok the Golden Hyung. That was mainly because he was good at everything from dancing to fashion to academics, but Jimin likes to think it’s because his heart is made of gold too. And usually, it’s that forgiving, kind point of view from Hoseok that has allowed Jimin to open up to people he never would’ve given a second glance. But this? Jimin doesn’t think he can do this. Not with so much of his career on the line.

Sitting back on Jimin’s desk, Hoseok says flatly, “So treat him like the adult he is and put him to work just like you do everyone else here. He’s what, twenty-five, twenty-six? We work with models that his age and—”

“He’s twenty-four,” Jimin stresses, “and it has nothing to do with his actual age and everything to do with every fashion producer or director that’s ever worked with him saying he’s a spoiled brat! I don’t have time for that!”

He’s yelling again, and suddenly the only person on set that seems like a spoiled brat is him. But Jimin’s self-aware; he recognizes it and reels his composure back in. Taking in a deep breath, he then lets it out slowly and says like a final plea, “This team has been through enough bad changes already.”

They both know the final decision is Jimin’s. He’s in charge, and this is his show before it’s anyone else’s. But Hoseok is Jimin’s best friend. He values his opinion more than anyone else on this planet, especially when it comes to their work. But this situation is already leaving a bad taste in Jimin’s mouth, and nothing has even happened yet.

“I’ve seen you do great things throughout your career,” Hoseok says, voice softening. “I’ve seen you do more with less. This kid has a lot of talent, Jimin. He might be the lead, but you’re still the leader. He works for you—for this show. And if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll let him go. But right now? All I see is the industry’s rising star, with every spotlight on him, on our set. Ours. The media coverage and the interest from designers will skyrocket. You know that. This could be a good thing.”

Jimin’s quiet, chewing his lip.

He does know this. He knows that everything Hoseok has said is accurate, and that’s why he hates it. Magazines with Taehyung on the cover sell like wildfire, especially when there’s a section inside featuring an interview with him. Nowadays, no one can escape his face. He’s on billboards, and he’s been in commercials. He’s on just about every runway that can snag him, too.

And now he’s here.

Selfishly, for his own career, Jimin is excited to announce Taehyung has signed as their lead officially. But also selfishly, for his own career, he’s terrified to work with someone with such a tainted reputation. Jimin doesn’t know what’s worse: working with an unworkable lead or working his shows without one at all. Neither seems ideal.

After some drawn-out silence, Jimin lets out a deep breath and admits defeatedly, “The work he does is beautiful.”

Hoseok knows exactly what that means. He stands up with his eyes bright and his smile even brighter.

Pointing toward the door, Hoseok asks, grin growing with each word, “So I should go get him set up?”

He lifts his eyebrows and wags them a little in Jimin’s direction, like an excited puppy.

And although Jimin’s smiling, he says against the persistent feeling in his gut telling him not to, “Yes, please. He’s got a whole show to memorize and not a lot of time to do it.”

Hoseok leaves before Jimin changes his mind.

When the door’s shut, Jimin’s washed with this wave-like feeling. He can’t help it; he knows this is a mistake.

✢

“We have a press conference tomorrow.”

Jimin can see Taehyung’s reaction in the mirror before he turns around. His face twists into a displeased, confused expression. And Jimin tries not to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t try too hard because they roll anyway. He approaches Taehyung with his arms folded, already defensive.

Taehyung is sitting in a chair identical to everyone else’s, in front of a vanity that’s also identical to everyone else’s. Still, it somehow looks more elegant with his face in the reflection. Something about his presence. Jimin looks away.

“Press conference?” Taehyung asks, but it comes out muffled as the make-up artist smears a pink color over his bottom lip. He gives her a pointed look, and she steps back, retracting her hand. She excuses herself.

“Yeah,” Jimin shrugs. “Gotta announce you’re joining the tour.”

To that, Taehyung snorts, “Gotta or wanna?”

The only reaction Jimin can bear to spare is a lazy lift of his eyebrow.

“We don’t have to have a press conference. You just want to. Because you know announcing me is going to turn heads—make people interested in your show,” Taehyung elaborates, eyes as bored as when he walked in.

Jimin swallows hard. He tells him, “People are already interested in my show, with or without you.”

The chuckle Taehyung gives is a dry one. “Yeah, okay.”

Taehyung turns back around like he’s dismissing Jimin. Faces the mirror and waves the makeup artist back over. But Jimin steps closer, putting himself in Taehyung’s line of sight. He sits on the edge of Taehyung’s vanity, right in his face. Because Jimin can take many things, but being disrespected isn’t one of them.

Jimin keeps his voice steady and stern as he adds, “But it was all over the headlines when our other lead dropped out. So yeah, I wanna have a press conference to clear the air. Let people know we’ve got someone to replace him and that we’re fine. Not to…” Jimin gestures vaguely in Taehyung’s direction and nearly spits, “...show you off.”

Even in the reflection of the mirror, Taehyung’s stare is cold. His pupils are ice, freezing Jimin out. It sends a chill down Jimin’s back and settles at the base of his spine.

“Good,” Taehyung says. “‘Cause I’m not your trophy.”

Truthfully, Jimin has no idea what’s happening. He pushes himself onto his feet and comments back, “No one said you were.” Then, as he walks away, “Eleven a.m. sharp. I’ll give your agent the address.”

And Jimin only makes it about three steps when he hears Taehyung reply, sarcastic and dry, “Can’t wait.”

✢

If Jimin could, he’d take success without fame. He’d happily have his name tacked on to every successful fashion show from Tokyo to Los Angeles but throw away the part where he’s recognized in public.

And honestly, it doesn’t happen all too often. Because it’s true, no one really pays attention to the man behind the curtain. Not when the people on stage are long-legged and angel-faced. But it happens enough for Jimin to know he doesn’t like it. In fact, he hates it.

Between the blinding lights of the cameras and the reporters with no filter and the paparazzi that no longer try to hide the fact that they’re stalkers, Jimin can’t stand it. He’s been in the industry long enough to know everyone is just looking for a story. The filthier, the better. Jimin has worked for nine long years to keep his name relevant but clean.

“—think there’s enough time to prepare for—”

“...now that there’s a new lead for your…”

It’s all a blur.

Not very often does Jimin feel like a celebrity, but on days like today, he does. Stepped out of a shiny black stretch limo with shiny black shoes to match. He fixes the collar of his tuxedo—black, too, with a deep red tie—as he keeps his eyes down. Hoseok takes his arm as they walk.

“—worried that it’s too late to—”

“...find time to date or find love when you’re so…”

Half of these questions have nothing to do with the show. Jimin holds his hand up as he’s escorted through the mess of people. Every so often, he mumbles, “No comment, sorry,” but he doubts it’s loud enough to hear. Not over the shutters of the cameras and the questions that are being shouted over one another.

Once they’re inside, the hall is so quiet, Jimin could hear a pin drop. It’s almost disorienting, the extreme opposite of out there and in here. He squints at the shiny white walls and restarts his brain. Behind him, there’s a soft buzzing at the thick double doors, like a swarm of bees, indicating the reporters are still outside.

A hand rubs Jimin’s back, small circles, getting his attention.

“Good?” Hoseok asks, a lift of his eyebrow to accompany. He’s smiling, always smiling, and it’s contagious because Jimin smiles back almost involuntarily.

Jimin looks down at his watch, then a bit aimlessly down the corridor. Asks, “Have you seen Taehyung? I told him eleven.”

“I offered to have our driver pick them up, but Yoongi said they were taking their own car,” Hoseok replies with a shrug. “Said they’d meet us here.”

Sighing, Jimin mumbles, “Of course they did.”

“Come on,” Hoseok says. He gives Jimin’s shoulder a light smack and gestures with his head down the hall. Doesn’t even give Jimin a chance to worry. Says, “Let’s go. It’ll be fine.”

The short heels on Jimin’s shoes echo almost eerily as they walk deeper into the silence and away from the entrance. Jimin takes in a deep breath from his nose and holds it until his lungs start to burn. He adjusts his suit jacket as he walks, keeping his eyes leveled forward.

It’s not even the stress of this particular press conference that’s getting to him—it’s all of it. Jimin doesn’t like to talk about it, but this tour and these shows mean everything.

Sure, Jimin’s name is already well known in the industry. He’s worked with most of the major brands and has been producing under his own management and creative expression for years. But this is big. Bigger than anything he’s ever done. There are more eyes on him now than ever before, and he knows not everyone is cheering him on.

Nothing makes a better story than a failure. Society loves to see someone fall. And with all the buzz around Jimin’s show—the magazines already donning him the producer of the year—so much of the longevity of the rest of Jimin's career will be projected by this. It’s make or break. And Jimin hates that too. Makes him nauseous, dizzy.

The room Hoseok leads Jimin into is as empty as the foyer. Shiny floors, white lights, brown leather couches. Jimin stands aimlessly near the doorway, checking his watch.

Too nervous not to ask again, Jimin begins, “Hyung, have you heard—”

“Yoongi says they’re on their way. They’re pulling around back so the paparazzi don’t see Taehyung walking in.” Hoseok raises and lowers his eyebrows and reads the message aloud, “ Ruins the surprise.”

Jimin doesn’t understand. “It’s already out that we signed Taehyung on. What surp—”

“Of his outfit, apparently,” Hoseok clarifies, a click of his tongue to follow.

“Jesus Christ,” Jimin mumbles into the palm of his hand. He rubs his temples, a headache coming on.

Since Taehyung was so set on Jimin needing him for the show to do well, Jimin gave the okay for it to be “leaked” that Taehyung was their new lead for this stint of the tour. So now, the conference is less of a reveal and more of a meet and greet, a way to show Jimin and Taehyung has a newly-made team. Although the world is already getting pretty acquainted with Taehyung in other ways.

Hoseok stuffs his phone back into his pocket and says with that bright, comforting smile of his, “Relax, Jimin. He’s a little… dramatic, sure. But name a model on our team that isn’t. As long as he says the right things to the reporters, we’ll be fine.”

Slowly, Jimin drags his hands away from his face to meet Hoseok’s eyes. Says, reluctantly, “You’re right.”

“There you go.” Hoseok looks down at his watch. “We have time. Why don’t you sit down, go over the key points we talked about, and I’ll go get our little shining star.”

Jimin’s laugh is a dry, almost pained one. Regardless, he gives Hoseok a genuine look and says, “Thanks.”

Hoseok heads for the door and Jimin heads for the couch. There’s chatter around him, but it’s all background noise. Representatives from Jimin’s company, some from Taehyung’s agency. Staff working the conference come in and out—people with headsets and radios and clipboards looking busy and overworked. But Jimin tunes them all out.

He rests with his head leaned back on the couch, closes his eyes, and thinks to himself that in two hours’ time, this will all be over.

✢

When Jimin is angry, most things for him are a blur. Trades his firm grip on reality for an unsteady, shaky one. Black clouds in the corners of his vision, burning hot tingling in his fingertips, an irritating echo in his ear. His heart beats irregularly. Too fast then too slow, in odd increments of spikes and plummets, similar to his spiraled thinking. It’s all a smudge of time.

So the people he knocks shoulders with in the hallway and the commotion on set don’t even register to him right now. Doesn’t feel it, doesn’t hear it. He’s furious. That’s the only way he can describe what he feels right now. Pure fury.

“Jimin!”

Hoseok is chasing after him. The drive home had been a quiet one. Tension-filled, heavy. Jimin had bounced his leg so hard the entire car ride back, he’s still feeling the ache in his knee. Sat tight-lipped, with his hands clasped too calmly in his lap, replaying the press conference in his head like a bad movie. He’s got red marks indented in his knuckles from where he dug into the skin.

“Jimin! Wait—”

When Jimin’s in a bad mood, people usually steer clear. Hoseok is the only one bold enough to talk to him, try to calm him down. But Hoseok also knows Jimin won’t flip out on him. Their relationship is different. They’ve been through too much, and have already seen the worst of one another.

A strong hand grips Jimin by the bicep and yanks him into what he realizes a few disoriented blinks later is a storage closet. Spacious despite being cluttered with metal shelves housing random supplies. Jimin breathes in deeply, smells the dust in the room.

The look on Hoseok’s face is a mixture of sympathy and concern. A subtle twitch to the corners of his eyes, fighting a worried squint. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. Ironically, now it seems he isn’t sure what to say.

Jimin has plenty, though.

“Hyung, what the f*ck was that?!”

Still, Hoseok’s teeth remain clicked shut.

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Jimin grumbles, “I mean—seriously? Seriously?! The magazines and the low-life internet reporters are gonna have a field day with this!” A shifting of weight from one leg to another. An exhausted exhale. “God, I look like such an idiot now.”

Visibly, Hoseok contemplates putting a hand on Jimin’s shoulder. Aborted thoughts result in a half-lift of his arm, the twitching of his fingers. His well-worn, plastered smile melts at the corners, resembling a frown.

“Jimin,” he says around a sigh. And that’s all he says. Because there’s nothing else to say. “Jimin…”

“They asked him why he chose to work on this project and he said—and I quote—'My agent picked this for me,’ and when they asked what he’s looking forward to on the tour he said—and I f*cking quote—'When this is over, I have a pretty awesome shoot lined up in Australia,’ hyung! So basically, he’s forced here against his will and he can’t wait to leave! That’s the impression he just gave about my tour, my hard work!”

Calmly, Hoseok nods and says, "I know. I heard."

Jimin smacks the arm of a shelf beside them, rattling its defenseless contents. A can of spray paint falls to the floor. A container of rainbow-colored file folders tips over and spills.

“What lovely f*cking words from our new lead! So glad he’s here, hyung!” This time, Jimin punches the arm of the shelf. It feels good, so Jimin does it again. And again. Hoseok steps away from the objects falling, but not from Jimin. Instead, he grabs his wrist with a gentle hand.

“You need to calm down,” Hoseok tells him, firm but still soft. His eyes find Jimin’s and stares until he stares back. When they have eye contact, Hoseok tells him again, a suggestive nod accompanying his words, “Jimin, you need to calm down.”

For just a moment, Jimin closes his eyes. Takes a second-long break from reality, finds shelter behind his eyelids and tucks himself away in the darkness. He hears Hoseok talking, but the words are muffled and faded.

Opening his eyes one at a time, Jimin tunes back in. “…and no one’s gonna take someone like him seriously anyway,” Hoseok’s in the middle of saying. His fingers are beginning to knead into Jimin’s tense muscles. Jimin winces at the pressure but stays in place. “Plus, everyone already knows how great you are and how amazing this tour has been and will continue to be. A few pissy comments from the industry’s newest brat isn’t going to change anything.”

Deep down, logically, Jimin knows Hoseok is right. Taehyung simply lived up to his reputation in the press conference, so honestly, Jimin almost blames himself for expecting anything different. But it never feels good to have someone sh*t on your work, especially in front of a sea of cameras and microphones.Especiallyfrom someone who has just signed as the face of the project they've just sh*t-talked.

“Just,” Jimin sighs, feeling his shoulders deflate. “Is this the type of attitude we want on our team?”

Hoseok shrugs indifferently. “He’s a bit of a pain in the ass, sure. But he’s here to walk the runway and take pretty pictures and impress the brands investing in the shows on tour. As long as he does that…”

His voice trails off. Another shrug.

“I guess,” Jimin mumbles.

“Besides!” Hoseok starts. His voice is noticeably more optimistic, but Jimin can tell it’s the fake kind. Preppiness saturated in sarcasm. He’s talking through his teeth. “If he really gets on your last nerve, you can fire him! Because it’s your show!”

Jimin laughs emptily. “I’ll kick his ass first. Then I’ll throw him out.”

“Atta boy,” Hoseok giggles, smacking Jimin's shoulder.

The mental image Jimin creates in his head of him telling Taehyung he’s fired makes him smile darkly. Satisfaction from something that hasn’t even happened yet warming his insides. It puts him in a good enough mood to go back out on set and try to make sense of their circus act.

✢

The thing is, Jimin knows he’s hard on his models. He asks them to come in early and stay late way more than he wants to, but it’s needed. The more hours they put into perfecting their walk and mastering their expressions for the camera, the easier their shows will be. It’s simple science. Muscle memory.

Like any other job, Jimin knows some of the models complain about him amongst themselves. Call him an asshole or insensitive. Huddle together backstage and fantasize about going on strike on the days they’ve really had it. But at the end of the day, they keep coming back and Jimin keeps working hard for them. There’s mutual respect.

Little things, like when Jimin gives them a place in line, they don’t complain. And when Jimin instructs them to walk a specific route on stage, they do it. And when Jimin asks them to please just f*cking listen to his instructions, they just…listen.

Right now, Jimin’s standing on the edge of center stage. Actually, he’s crouching because he’s exhausted and he has a headache and—

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Taehyung says to him from across the stage, eyebrows furrowed. “It doesn’t make sense.” He’s on Jimin’s right-hand side, only a few minutes into the rehearsal for the opening, and he’s stopped them twice already. He stands with one hand on his hip, waiting.

Rubbing his temples, Jimin mumbles sarcastically, “I don’t know why you’re here either.”

It’s dead quiet on stage now; the music’s been cut and all of the other models have their mouths zipped shut. Jimin’s comment echos off of the warehouse walls, heard loud and clear. Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Taehyung says. He gestures down to his place on stage. “Why am I here? ”

Feels like a trick question. Jimin lifts his head, rests his chin on the heel of his hand, and says flatly, “Because that’s where the lead stands. Are you gonna question everything I do?”

“If it’s stupid, yeah.”

A few near-silent rumbles from the models. Soft gasps and giggles and extremely childish oohs. There’s an audience for this and Jimin hates it. Jimin leans his head to the side, staring Taehyung down. He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully in his head.

“You’re the lead,” Jimin chooses to start with. “So you’re first in line. The camera is here.” He gestures above his head in a sloppy, halo-like shape, indicating his place on stage. “You’re all walking toward the camera, eyes forward. When you get three-fourths of the way, the line splits into two. You go left, and the first half of the line follows you.” Jimin squints, not sure if it’s sinking in. Says, a bit sarcastically, he can admit, “That’s why you’re there.”

Taehyung’s facial expression is blank, unamused. There are a few heartbeats of silence, a stillness on stage as everyone anticipates Taehyung’s response. But a second later, he runs a hand through his dark strands and just groans, “Jesus f*ckin’ Christ.”

Jimin’s hand slaps his thigh as he stands. “What, Taehyung?! What is so hard about this?”

“It’s not hard!” Taehyung shoots back, raising his voice as well. “It’s actually extremely elementary, and I’m trying to help you!”

To that, Jimin almost laughs. “How does questioning everything I do help me? All you’re doing is slowing us down with your complaints. You’re so—stubborn. You want everything to be your way.”

“I’m not complaining, I’m asking a question!” Taehyung’s face twists. He lazily throws his arm out and adds, “It’s not my fault you’re used to your models being brainless puppets.”

More rumbles from the models. Offended murmurs with strong looks to accompany. Some eye rolls, but none of them actually say anything to Taehyung. Mia, who’s standing directly next to Taehyung, takes a half-step away, distancing herself.

Disregarding the low-blow comment about the models, Jimin takes a few steps closer and says loudly, “But it’s not just a question, is it? It’s many questions meant to undermine me.” He counts off on his fingers, “According to you, your place on stage is wrong, and the press conference is a cry for attention, and your makeup is bland, and your outfits—which we’ve just had tailored to fit you, by the way—are ugly. Just… it never ends with you! Nothing satisfies you. You’ve been here days and I’ve heard more out of you than—”

“How insecure are you that one person asking for clarification on valid things like their wardrobe and position on stage is somehow ‘undermining’ you?” Taehyung cuts in. He puts the word in air quotes and says it in a whining tone. Jimin is almost positive it was meant to mimic the Busan dialect.

Now Taehyung’s walking closer too, steam shooting from his ears. His neck is turning red, the bridge of his nose too, and his eyes look darker than Jimin's ever seen them.

They’ve switched from English to Korean, leaving more than half of the models out of their conversation. It's a good thing as far as Jimin’s concerned because this is the worst they’ve ever seen him and they don’t need a play-by-play of what’s being said. But Jeongguk, who Jimin learned in both his interview and from reading his file, is from the same area Jimin is. He watches the two of them in horror, his Bambi eyes as big as saucers.

“They’re not valid if you’re complaining just to hear yourself speak, Taehyung!” Jimin tells him. He feels the muscles in his neck strain, trying to keep his voice level. Taehyung’s nose scrunches at the comment.

Slowly but surely, the models back up, leaving Taehyung and Jimin near center stage, yelling at one another.

This time, when Taehyung yells back, his voice is nearly smacking off of the walls. Jimin feels the vibrations in his bones, but it doesn’t scare him. Taehyung doesn’t scare him. He’s like an overgrown puppy. All bark but no bite, Jimin can tell.

He tells Jimin, “You claim this is the biggest tour of your life and that these shows have to be perfect, but you’re piecing together the most mediocre formations for us to walk, with underwhelming make-up on, and in pieces from top brands that aren’t even their most anticipated or best selling! I’m trying to help you!”

“Well, no one asked for your goddamn opinion on my show!” Jimin shoots back. Because he’s been in this industry for a long time, and he’s learned to be open-minded and less defensive when someone is giving him constructive criticism. But it’s completely different when the comments are not only plain rude but also unsolicited.

To be painfully honest, Jimin doesn’t give a f*ck what Taehyung has to say.

Somewhere in his peripheral vision, Jimin spots both Hoseok and Yoongi scurrying on stage like there's a fire. Hoseok goes to Taehyung, Yoongi’s approaching Jimin. He’s talking quickly about something Jimin doesn’t fully catch and doesn’t really care about, something about taking a moment to calm down. Something Taehyung working better one on one with his directors. And if Jimin was really listening, he would've laughed right in Yoongi's face.

But Jimin’s had it; he doesn’t care. He’s done with both of them and their excuses and their attitudes. So he says, “And if you can’t keep your mouth shut, you can get the hell off of my stage for good!”

Like the juvenile he keeps proving to Jimin he is, Taehyung takes off the designer black suit jacket he’s been wearing for rehearsal, lets it fall to the floor, and yells, “Fine!”

And Jimin, because he can’t help it, yells back, “Fine!”

Hoseok has a soft hand around Taehyung’s bicep like he’s trying to keep him in place. And Jimin has the passing thought that he wishes Taehyung would break Hoseok’s hold and charge him—just give him one reason to lay him out. Jimin’s hands curl into fists, back muscles tensing with frustration.

Two hands on Jimin’s shoulders steal his focus. What happens next on stage between Hoseok and Taehyung, he doesn’t get to see clearly. It’s Yoongi, looking at him with wide eyes and his lips pressed into a straight line. Stress paints his face, harbors in the creases on his forehead.

“Jimin, please,” he says. He settles in Jimin’s line of sight, fingers firm and pressing.

Behind them, Taehyung’s still yelling. Jimin catches pieces of it, but he’s nearly out of eyesight now. He’s grumbling something about the whole tour being a sh*tshow and run by a pretentious bitch. Hoseok is trailing behind him with a defeated slouch to his shoulders.

Jimin’s attention swings again, back to Yoongi, and he says, “Please, what? It’s your client with the bad attitude, not me.”

Having said all he feels he needs to, Jimin shakes Yoongi’s hand off of his shoulder and attempts to walk away. But Yoongi’s there a second later, skipping to stay in front of him. He’s holding a hand out now, ghosting his long fingers over Jimin’s shoulder.

“Just—” he tries to start. Jimin sees him swallow hard. “Let me go get him. I’ll settle him down, yeah? He’ll come back.”

But Jimin is serious, he’s had enough. He means it when he tells Yoongi flat-out, “I don’t want him to come back.” Jimin decides right at that moment that he’d rather rework his entire show around having one less model than getting trapped in the natural disaster that is Taehyung.

Again, Jimin tries to step past Yoongi. Tries left, then tries right. Both times, Yoongi stays in front of him. Fast feet like he’s playing defense in a professional basketball game. Annoyed more than anything, Jimin comes to a stop. He tilts his head to the side, gives Yoongi a death stare, and sighs.

“He’ll come back… with a better attitude,” Yoongi offers. Then, when Jimin’s face must show that’s not nearly enough, he adds, “He’ll do what you say. I'll make sure. He just needs time to adjust. That’s why I was saying he works better in private sessions with the directors—”

Jimins gut twists in disgust at just the mere thought of being alone with Taehyung. Sucks his teeth and tells Yoongi, “Hell no. Completely out of the question. And I don’t give special treatment—especially to smart-mouthed jerks who call me a bitch on my own set.”

Yoongi’s eyes look desperate. Promises, “He’ll be better.”

Honestly, Jimin doesn’t understand why Yoongi is fighting so hard for this. Jimin knows for a fact that the industry-wide demand for Taehyung is insane, overwhelming. He’s offered more jobs than any able-bodied human could possibly take on. Taehyung could leave Jimin’s tour now and walk onto another gig within the hour. They’re in New York for f*ck’s sake. There’s a job opportunity on every street corner for someone like Taehyung.

“No,” Jimin says, monotone and final. Then, realizing the crowd of models is still standing aimlessly now on stage, he gestures toward them and says, “Take a break, guys. Sorry.”

And Jimin tries to follow them because if he thought he needed a vodka shot the other day, he needs a whole bottle poured down his throat now. His skin feels hot, uncomfortable. He’s sticky with the residue of his and Taehyung’s argument. A foul-smelling mix of anger and shame and disgust hovers around Jimin’s nose, making him nauseous. He needs a shower. He needs to sleep.

Jimin’s steps are echoed by Yoongi’s, staying right by his side. He tries again, “Jimin.”

“Yoongi, listen,” Jimin begins with a sigh. He stops, runs a hand through his hair. “You seem like a nice guy. But Taehyung—”

“He just needs time,” Yoongi insists again.

“I don’t have time,” Jimin groans. “The next show is scheduled for a week and a half from now. This one is live. I can’t sacrifice any time I’d spend getting everything ready tutoring your client. He’s supposed to be a professional.”

For what feels like the millionth time, Jimin tries to walk away. And what also feels like the millionth time, Yoongi stops him.

“It’s not tutoring,” he clarifies. Then, with his voice lowering to a near-whisper like he’s telling Jimin a secret, “I know he’s tough to work with. I know. And I’m doing the best I can. But once you get to know him—”

“I don’t want to get to know him, I want him to work. We didn’t sign him on to be friends and learn about each other’s childhoods,” Jimin almost spits.

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Years in this industry and he’s never been fed this line of bullsh*t before. Taehyung and Yoongi are still fairly new to this, apparently, so maybe they haven’t learned yet. But no one here gets special treatment. Not when there’s a younger, prettier, cheaper, more hardworking you just itching to take your spot at any second.

“God, Jimin, can you just…” Yoongi’s voice trails off, but the spike of frustration in his tone stings something in Jimin’s gut. Makes his throat feel dry and the muscles in his thighs tighten. He shoots Yoongi with a strong look.

Apologetically, Yoongi holds a hand up. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. Then, “I’m just… really trying here.”

Years in the industry, and Jimin can count on one hand the number of agents he’s seen fighting this hard for their client. Jimin has no idea how Yoongi and Taehyung became paired—random pick when Taehyung signed on, or maybe they’ve known one another for years prior, maybe they used to date—but Yoongi’s tenacity when it comes to him is admirable.

And it’s that—Yoongi’s raw perseverance—that makes him listen. Despite everything, Yoongi sees something in Taehyung that’s worth fighting for. So Jimin takes a deep breath and holds it. He gives him a quick nod that lets him know, just for a minute, he’ll hear him out.

“You’re right,” Yoongi starts with a rise and fall of his left shoulder. “He’s stubborn. And he’s a pain in the ass. And he speaks way quicker than he thinks, and that gets him in trouble.”

Jimin chuckles. “You know, this isn’t really selling me on changing my mind, Min Yoongi-ssi.”

Yoongi’s face softens. “But he’s smart, and he’s talented, and he’s passionate. It comes off as speaking out of turn, and he doesn’t always phrase it right but—it’s passion, I promise you. He wants a great body of work just like all of the directors do. I’m working on his delivery, but it’s a work in progress.”

Breathing out through his nose, Jimin crosses his arms and shifts his weight. He stays quiet, keeps his facial expression emotionless. Yoongi continues.

“I know this is an…unusual request. I wasn’t born yesterday, I know no one gets special treatment or, as you said, tutoring sessions. But it’s not that.” Yoongi pauses for a moment, trying to read Jimin’s body language.

But Jimin remains almost stoic, so Yoongi dredges valiantly through uncharted waters. “It’s a meeting or two, after practice, between a producer and a show lead. You guys can, I dunno, talk business. Or creative direction. Or bounce ideas off of each other. Hear one another out without sixty other people listening in.”

Taking a moment to let all of it digest, Jimin asks skeptically, “An hour extra of my time?”

“Forty-five minutes,” Yoongi bargains.

Jimin can’t help it, he giggles. He sucks his teeth and tells Yoongi, “You should’ve been a lawyer.”

He gestures over his shoulder and says playfully, “With this one? I basically am. Among other things.”

Yoongi smiles, so Jimin does too.

“But seriously,” Yoongi starts again. “I know especially after today he’s not your favorite person. But I think this would be a great project for him. And I’d like to hope it’d be mutually beneficial for you to have him on your roster too. Like your assistant said, maybe this could be a win/win?”

Jimin almost rolls his eyes. Hoseok and his damn win/win theory he’s been spewing around. He uncrosses his arms, emotionally opening up as he physically does. He can see now that there’s no need to be defensive with Yoongi, he’s just trying his best. Jimin can sympathize with that.

Not giving in completely though, because he’s still beyond pissed off. Taehyung’s responses at the press conference coupled with this aren’t exactly working in his favor. Still, Jimin’s gut is telling him to just get him off completely like an infected limb. It’s only a matter of time before he poisons the rest of the body.

But there’s something in Yoongi’s eyes. Hope, Jimin thinks. And he feels it chipping away at the wall he’s put up. And he hates it, because he wants to be someone who can just say no, walk away, and wipe his hands clean of it all. But—

“I’ll think about it,” Jimin finally says. It’s the best he can do right now. No promises one way or the other.

Realizing he’s in no position at all to argue, Yoongi nods and then tries with a squint, “So… we’ll be back tomorrow?”

Again, his persistence is admirable. But honestly, Jimin’s done with this conversation. It’s all draining. He shrugs his shoulders and says again, “I’ll think about it.”

This time, when Jimin walks away, Yoongi lets him.

✢

Over drinks, Hoseok fills Jimin in on what happened with Taehyung while he was speaking with Yoongi. According to him, once they left the stage, it was rather uneventful. He just mumbled things under his breath as he stuffed what little items he had into his duffel bag, then left. Hoseok didn’t try to stop him.

“He packed his sh*t but Yoongi wants me to give him a second chance and tutoring sessions?” Jimin takes a sip of his whiskey. The flavor is a tart but settling one on his tongue. Keeps his nerves steady.

Jimin’s apartment overlooks the city. He doesn’t usually buy or rent property in the places he does business, but something about New York has always drawn him in. It’s the rush, maybe, or the uniqueness of the city. The mix of people here is remarkable and there’s always magic in the air. Never a dull moment, and as he and Hoseok sit out on his balcony watching the traffic jam despite it being after midnight, he’s reminded that the city truly never sleeps.

Giggling, Hoseok tells him, “Stop calling it that.”

He’s a lightweight, so he reached his limit of two glasses of white wine hours ago. He’s sipping on sparkling water now, but he must still be feeling the buzz because he’s got that warm glow to his cheeks. Like the alcohol heats him from the inside out. There’s a thin layer of sweat on his forehead despite the coolness of the night air.

“Business meetings,” Jimin corrects, but his tone indicates that he’s being sarcastic. He takes another sip.

Although Yoongi’s speech was rather impressive, Jimin still thinks this whole “get to know one another'' thing is, frankly, bullsh*t. He didn’t need to have private, one-on-one sessions with any of his other models, so why Taehyung?

Yoongi claims it’s not special treatment, but that’s not true and they all know it. Jimin has never been one to give any kind of specific attention to anyone—he knows how that looks to everyone else and how quickly rumors spread.

And again, Jimin has worked for years to keep his name clean. No scandals, no gossip. The last thing he needs is for someone to suspect he and Taehyung are anything other than employer and employee. They’re barely even that.

“Still can’t believe Yoongi asked you to do that,” Hoseok says, eyes forward, watching nothing in particular from their thirteenth-story view.

Jimin doesn’t answer, just makes a face.

“You gonna do it?” Hoseok asks, turning to look at him now. He holds the chilled glass of water up to his lips but doesn’t take a sip. Instead, he watches Jimin expectantly.

It’s a hard decision, truth be told. Jimin continues to weigh the pros and cons of it. Allowing Taehyung to come back after his temper tantrum—which, now calmer, Jimin can admit (to himself only) that maybe he threw one too—is one thing. But going above and beyond for him is something else completely.

Jimin was brought up to believe respect is earned, not given. So far, Taehyung has done nothing to earn Jimin’s respect, or his time, or his effort. This industry is a two-way street. Both have to try. Taehyung doesn’t seem willing to do so, and honestly, Jimin isn’t sure if he is either.

Answering himself a bit, Hoseok shrugs and tells Jimin, “I think you should.”

Jimin scoffs. Mumbles into his drink, “Of course you do.” Then, “Why are you rooting for him so hard anyway? You got something goin’ on with him I need to know about?”

“Please.” Hoseok rolls his eyes, unamused by Jimin’s comment. He licks his lips and says, “Yoongi’s more my type. The whole… fake-tough exterior thing? All business, no play?” He pokes out his bottom lip and says with a too-confident shrug, “He’d let me in.”

Jimin's laugh is a squawk. There’s a clear double meaning to his response when he snorts, “Yeah, I’m sure he would.”

“That’s beside the point,” Hoseok says, giggling. He takes in a slow breath, chest expanding, then lets it out slowly. “I just… think you should. Give him a shot?”

To that, Jimin raises his eyebrows and gives him a look.

“Another shot,” Hoseok corrects, playfully annoyed. "God, you're so petty."

But that’s just Hoseok’s nature. Kind-hearted, generous. And for years, Jimin has tried to follow in his footsteps, but this… is a hard hurdle to jump over. Jimin breathes out hard through his nose.

“Yoongi seems to think all of Taehyung’s hardheadedness and blunt lack of respect is actually passion. That he’s just a little misguided or whatever,” Jimin informs him, a disbelieving tilt to his tone. Says it with a shrug of his shoulders.

Hoseok puts his drink down on the tiny white table between them. “Maybe it is,” he offers lightly.

Jimin gives Hoseok a death stare of a look, he knows he does. Feels his eyebrows scrunch and his jaw drop open, ready to chew his head off.

“I’m not saying the way he acts is right,” Hoseok clarifies quickly, giggling at Jimin’s twisted expression. “I’m just saying we all grow at different paces. And navigating through this industry is nearly impossible sometimes, especially without being assertive and standing up for yourself. And Taehyung sure as hell isn’t making any friends with the way he acts, but maybe Yoongi’s right. He knows him better than we do, right? Maybe it’s passion misfiring.”

To that, Jimin’s quiet. He understands where both Hoseok and Yoongi are coming from, but something continues to make him hesitant. Feels like a losing battle.

Eventually, because sometimes it feels good to not be Park Jimin, an international fashion producer, and instead be Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok’s favorite pain in the ass, he simply grumbles, “Whatever.”

But Hoseok isn’t having any of it. He sees right through him. Smacks his wrist and says with a smile, “Tell Yoongi he and Taehyung can come back tomorrow before you change your mind.”

Again, Jimin says, “Whatever.”

He downs the rest of his drink in one gulp.

✢

(He texts Yoongi anyway.

Today, 1:31 AM

To: Min Yoongi
practice
7am sharp

And surprisingly, not too long after—

Today, 1:39 AM

From: Min Yoongi
we’ll be there

Jimin turns off his phone before he thinks it over and retracts his invitation.)

✢

At 6:45 AM, Jimin is nursing the faint remnants of what feels like a mild hangover, but what most likely is his body’s negative reaction to today before it even begins. He sits in his matchbox of an office with his index and middle finger massaging circles into his temples.

By 7:04 AM, he hears the rumblings of his models entering. Shockingly, they’re always rather chatty in the morning. Jimin wonders if they even sleep, the life of a model is unfortunately as cliché as it looks on television sometimes. He knows full well that some of them party all night once they leave practice.

And by 7:18 AM, as Jimin’s lining everyone up for the first section they’re going to rehearse for today, he realizes he’s missing one model. Slowly, his eyes scan everyone, double-checking.

Then, just so that Jimin can say he did all he could, he asks aloud to everyone, “You guys see Taehyung today? Is he in the dressing room?”

Various nos and sorry float in the air, confirming what Jimin already knew. Biting the inside of his lip, Jimin thinks about what he should do, how they should move forward. Seems they’re working officially without a lead, and with their next show in about a week, they need to really shape up.

Clapping his hands to get everyone's attention, Jimin announces, “Actually—we’re gonna start from the top today.” There’s a collective groan, everyone knowing what that implies. Jimin shrugs at them and says, “Sorry guys. I tried.”

By 8:58 AM, after they’ve run through the opening three times and the two parts after that, Jimin takes out his phone and types quickly.

To: Min Yoongi
the offer’s off the table
I'm done playing games
thanks for nothing

He stuffs his phone into his back pocket and tells everyone to line up again. They’ll run it as many times as they have to until it’s perfect, with or without a lead.

With or without Taehyung.

Chapter 2: ii.

Chapter Text

There’s something satisfying about being the last person out. Feels like a pat on the back for a job well done—or, at least, a valiant effort. Jimin’s steps echo off the walls of the now-vacant warehouse. His models, the make-up crew, the various assistants, and even Hoseok are all gone. Jimin stayed an hour late reworking, again, how to pull off the next show without a lead.

His focus is on his phone, typing away in the notes as different ideas pop into his head. Wardrobe suggestions and shuffled formations now that they’re working with an even number of models. It’s more complicated that way; he can’t stack and stagger the models the way he wants, but he’ll happily make do with what he has as long as he doesn’t have to see—

Someone clears their throat, an attempt at getting his attention. Honestly, it nearly scares the hell out of him. Almost bites his tongue as his eyes shoot up, confusion surely written in the furrow of his brow.

“This is a joke, right?” Jimin scoffs when his eyes fall on Yoongi and Taehyung. Yoongi looks almost remorseful; there’s a softness in his gaze that Jimin chooses to ignore. He’s got his hands clasped in front of himself, fingers squeezing nervously. Taehyung is a step behind Yoongi, eyes averted. Jimin can’t read his expression, but honestly, he doesn’t care to.

Jimin’s done playing games. He shakes his head and starts making a beeline toward the main door. His shoulder knocks against Taehyung’s as he tries to leave. It’s unintentional, honestly, but it satisfies something inside of Jimin when Taehyung stumbles backward.

He says before either of them even speaks, “No f*ckin’ way. No.”

“Jimin, just—” Yoongi starts with a sigh.

In his peripheral vision, Jimin sees the way he reaches out. Like there was a half-thought to grab for Jimin’s arm. He’s wise to reconsider, Jimin thinks. He can’t vouch for his self-restraint if either of them touches him right now.

“No,” Jimin says again, frustration seeping too quickly into his tone. He reaches the thick glass double doors and presses his back to the barred lever on one of them, ready to leave. But he stops for just long enough to say, “You’ve got balls coming here, though. I wouldn’t dare to show my face again to someone I stood up the day before—someone who was already giving me a second chance.”

Yoongi takes a step closer. He holds his hands out by his waist like he’s trying to remind Jimin to stay calm. Says, “I know. You’re right. And we’re sorry. It’s just—”

“I’m not interested in hearing your bullsh*t excuses anymore,” Jimin growls, shaking his head. “I don’t have the time, and to be quite honest, I don’t have the f*cking patience. So just go.”

Jimin’s hip knocks hard into the door as it opens. Instantly, the buzz of the city fills his ears. Sometimes, the commotion is overwhelming. There’s so much going on, so many people. But right now, knowing he could fall into the crowd and disappear is almost comforting. Especially if it means getting away from these two.

“We f*cked up,” he hears Yoongi call. He’s taking longer strides than his legs are built for; he looks a little silly trying to catch up. But he’s quick, and he’s by Jimin’s side again in no time. Doesn’t wait for Jimin to respond. He keeps talking.

Jimin has learned easy enough that that’s Yoongi’s tactic. He just floods Jimin with so many sentences and words that it’s easier to agree than to continue to listen. Says, “It was my fault, not his, okay? Signing onto your show was sort of last minute, so he already had something booked. It was my fault for not being more diligent and postponing the other obligation. And it was me who didn’t reach out to at least let you know.”

Jimin keeps walking. “Well, lucky for you, you’ll have plenty of time for all of your other bookings now that you’re no longer part of my show.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi groans. “I know you’re upset, but—”

“I’m not upset!” Jimin yells, entirely contradictory for his sentence. He stops to face Yoongi, turns around. Wants them both to see his face when he says this. He tells them, “I’m done.Not mad, not sad, not upset—done. This tour is happening no matter what. I don’t have time for this, Yoongi. The bad attitudes, the unsolicited criticism, the arguments. I don’t have a million chances to give!”

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, takes in a breath. “I know. We know, and we’re sorry. That’s why I wanted to come here as soon as we could and try to clear the air at least, show you that we’re serious. I cleared his schedule. We’ll focus on nothing but your project. You have my word.”

Jimin isn’t a stranger to double-bookings or mix-ups. And in this industry, he’s not a stranger to poor communication either. But when it comes to the success or downfall of his show, he’s not as sympathetic as maybe he would be on any other occasion. So he bites his tongue, says nothing.

And so Yoongi continues, “We’ll be at every practice. We’ll be on time. He’ll stay for the personal sessions with you.” Jimin scoffs at that. He’d forgotten he agreed to the ridiculous condition of giving Taehyung more time with him. Yoongi looks behind him, reaches his hand out toward Taehyung’s wrist. When he looks back at Jimin he says, “We’re dedicated, Jimin. Just… let us prove it.”

And f*ck, Jimin must be a masoch*st. He must have some hidden self-hatred or something. A desire for self-sabotage, maybe. But he feels himself giving in for reasons that he can’t even pinpoint. Perhaps desperation, because the shows were initially designed to have a lead. It’d be hell to rework the whole thing top to bottom.

But before he answers, Jimin’s gaze falls to Taehyung. He realizes that it’s been Yoongi talking the whole time, he hasn’t said a word. Actually, he’s been watching the two of them with that same unreadable expression on his face.

“Do you even wanna be here?” Jimin asks him directly. Taehyung’s eyes meet his, and Jimin feels coldness shoot down his body. He swallows down the feeling and follows up with, “I mean, your agent here has been busting his ass for you, but do you even want this?”

“Of course he wants this,” Yoongi says. Always sticking up for him.

But Jimin keeps his eyes on Taehyung. He scrunches his nose and asks maybe a little more harshly than he should, “Do you ever speak for yourself? Or only when you’re complaining?”

Taehyung takes in a slow deep breath through his nose, eyes squinting like he’s gearing up to tell Jimin off. So Jimin plants his feet, stands his ground. He’s had a pretty sh*tty couple of days, and primarily because of him, so if Taehyung wants to argue, they can argue.

Yoongi grabs Taehyung’s wrist, squeezes it tight. Visibly, Taehyung clenches his jaw, keeps his words inside. His shoulders relax as he lets out his breath.

Through his teeth, like it’s causing him physical pain to say it, Taehyung mumbles, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this.”

Not very convincing, especially since it seems pretty apparent that Yoongi all but physically dragged him here by his ears. But Jimin doesn’t dwell on it. If Yoongi’s telling the truth about the scheduling mix-up and if Taehyung’s, at the very least, able to work with his mouth shut, Jimin may be willing to reconsider.

“No more attitude on set,” Jimin says, setting ground rules—strict conditions. If this is going to work, they’re going to do it his way. Adds, “Everyone is already stressed out, and the team works hard. If you don’t want to be here, then leave, but don’t come tainting our atmosphere with your negative energy.”

Yoongi nods, says, “Done.”

They both look at Taehyung. Eventually, he says slowly, “Fine.”

“7 a.m. tomorrow. Sharp, no exceptions. If you’re not there on time, you’re done. Last chance.” Jimin looks Taehyung straight in the eye when he says, “I’ll power through with no lead before I get caught up in your sh*t.”

Again, Yoongi says, “Done.”

Yoongi swats Taehyung’s arm. Taehyung nods.

Pushing his goddamn luck, Yoongi lifts an eyebrow and asks, “And the meetings after practice?”

Audibly, Jimin groans. He’s well within his right to tell them both to f*ck off. No other model gets after-practice, special one-on-one treatment. As professionals, they should be able to do their job without someone holding their hand.

But.

But—

“Thirty minutes, main stage, after practice,” Jimin offers against his own instincts. But it’s not really an offer as he’s not willing to hear any counter-arguments. It’s clear in his tone, and everyone hears that, but Yoongi tries anyway.

He says through a sheepish smile and a shake of his head, “You promised forty-five minutes.”

“Yeah, and you promised you’d be here yesterday,” Jimin snaps, getting annoyed now. “Take it or leave it, because honestly, I think it’s ridiculous and a waste of my time, so—”

“Deal,” Yoongi says before Jimin can finish his sentence.

Jimin has nothing else to say. He looks once at both of them, offers a goodbye nod as civilly as he can, and walks away. As he’s heading toward his car, Jimin takes out his phone and continues to plan for a show without a lead. He’s learned to keep his expectations nearly nonexistent when it comes to Taehyung.

✢

The first face Jimin sees when he walks in the next day is Taehyung’s. Doesn’t mean to, there are dozens of models in the dressing room, but somehow, like a magnet, Jimin’s eyes find Taehyung.

Taehyung doesn’t see him, though, and doesn't look back. He’s preoccupied with the conversation he’s having with Jeongguk and one of the makeup artists.

They must be talking about makeup specifically, the artist has a brush in his hand, and he’s ghosting it over Taehyung’s cheekbone, like instructing how to apply blush or a highlight. Jeongguk is standing with his hip against the wall, offering something to the conversation as he gestures to his face.

Jimin rolls his eyes, looks away. Honestly, Jimin sort of can’t believe Taehyung’s here at all, but he assumes that’s Yoongi’s doing. For reasons he can’t pinpoint yet, Yoongi’s set on Taehyung being part of this project. And Jimin’s not typically a paranoid person, but his persistence, the more he thinks about it, sort of makes him nervous. Like there’s an ulterior motive somewhere, Jimin just can’t see it yet.

And he’s the fool that’s given them not one but two second chances now.

Feels like their next show is approaching quicker than Jimin has a tight grip on, so he wastes no time. He drops off his bags in his office, and then he’s quick to gather all of the models on stage. Claps his hands as they line up, facing him with sleepy eyes at the early hour.

They look down, defeated. Jimin knows it’s the instability of these past few weeks. Even before their now ex-lead model left, things were getting tough. The more media coverage this gets, the more eyes are on them, the more pressure they feel. Jimin knows that. He understands that, and he doesn’t want them to feel like he hasn’t noticed their hard work.

“We don’t have much time, but you all know that,” Jimin starts. “So if I’m a little harder on you these upcoming days, please try not to take it personally. I know this is all stressful.” He tries not to look at Taehyung when he says, “The back and forth of us not sure if we’ll have a lead, having to learn the whole show two ways, so we’re prepared no matter what, I know that’s hard. I see your efforts and your dedication. And… I don’t know. I just wanted to say thank you. And that I appreciate all of you.”

Some models offer him a smile, others a nod. A few thank Jimin back, tell him they appreciate him as well. At the end of the day, Jimin thinks of all of his models as a family.

Jimin likes to work with the same people repeatedly, build a relationship with them and continue to partner with them throughout their careers. Some of the models even make life-long friends working on his projects together. It’s that type of growth that he wants and loves.

“Taehyung’s here,” Jimin says, still making a point not to look at him. “So we’re running today in version one, with a lead. Please take your places. We’re gonna start from the top.”

Everyone, including Taehyung, goes to their assigned spot without a fight. They run through the first section of the show smoothly. Jimin offers small suggestions—tells them to be mindful of the beat of the song playing as they walk, reminds them of the camera placements, encourages them to play with their facial expressions, even in practice, so it seems natural when they’re live. And again, everyone, including Taehyung, is receptive.

Actually, Jimin isn’t sure if receptive is the best way to describe Taehyung today. Robotic seems more fitting. Noticeably, he’s quiet, withdrawn. He does what he’s supposed to, and his face doesn’t look particularly upset, but it’s not a happy expression either.

He doesn’t make eye contact when Jimin talks to him, but Jimin was guilty of that earlier, so he doesn’t take it to heart. But he does seem detached, distant. There’s tension when they have to interact; Jimin feels it. Everyone pays close attention when the two of them review something together. Flashbacks of the last time they were all on stage surely coming back to them.

But Taehyung remains passive, takes Jimin’s comments with a barely-there nod before walking away. If Taehyung were any of his other models, he would’ve pulled them aside and asked them what their problem is, but for Taehyung, he thinks of this as an improvement.

The last practice they had with Taehyung, they didn’t even get through the first half. This practice, they got through about three-fourths of it. It’s the smoothest practice they’ve had in a while. And as much as Jimin hates to admit it, Taehyung looks good as the lead.

✢

“What, so if you can’t talk sh*t, you just don’t speak at all?” Jimin says, a touch of playfulness in his tone. He sits down on one of the chairs set up in the audience, looking up at Taehyung, who’s sitting cross-legged on stage.

They’re about three minutes into their thirty-minute business meeting, as Yoongi calls it, and it’s already awkward. With everyone gone, it’s just the two of them, and Jimin doesn’t like how it feels. There’s a weight on his chest, a weird taste in his mouth. He’s counting the seconds.

Taehyung plays with the lace on his sneaker, keeping his head down. “I talked a lot of sh*t in my head, trust me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Jimin replies, sarcasm apparent in his tone.

Hoseok and Yoongi had lingered around toward the back of the stage for a while like referees. Or nervous parents. Pretended pathetically to be taking phone calls or looking for something, but it was obvious what they were doing. Yoongi is never near the stage, let alone on it, and Hoseok has more work to do backstage than he does out here.

Jimin had shooed them away, told them to get lost. Promised that as long as Taehyung keeps himself in check, he would too. Besides, it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, Jimin isn’t in the mood to fight. At least, not right now. He doesn’t have the energy for it.

So the two of them left, and now he and Taehyung are here. Alone. And it’s… weird. Jimin looks at his watch again, then up at Taehyung, who’s in the same position.

“You know this isn’t a good look, right?” Jimin says, gesturing between them because he can’t stop himself from pointing it out. And maybe this is him starting a fight. He said he wouldn’t, but he can’t help it. When Taehyung raises an eyebrow, Jimin clarifies, “You needing these tutoring sessions or whatever.”

Taehyung scoffs, looks away.

“It’s not tutoring if you’re not teaching me anything,” he says. “Besides, this is so that we can get on the same page about the tour. Nothing else.”

Jimin almost laughs because how could this ever be anything else? He can barely stand being in a room with Taehyung. There’s no way he’s going to volunteer to spend more time with him. He looks at his watch again. It’s only been a minute.

Taking the bait a little because clearly, they have no other way to spend their time, Jimin points out, “None of my other models need special treatment.”

“Yeah, and none of them are the lead, are they?” Taehyung shoots back.

And Jimin can’t help it. Angles his eyebrows and says, “Last lead didn’t need it.”

But Taehyung’s quick. Mumbles, “And look how well that worked out for both of you. Heard he jumped ship without even telling you.”

Jimin rolls his eyes, bites his tongue. He’s fighting the inner battle of being the bigger person versus engaging in every opening for a fight Taehyung gives him. He knows he should do the former, considering first and foremost he’s Taehyung’s boss and therefore should be professional at all times, but…god, sometimes he just wants to punch Taehyung in the face. He can’t help it.

Silence blankets them, suffocating. Taehyung is all the way over there, and Jimin is over here, but the room feels too small. The air is thin and hot when Jimin breathes it in, creating condensation on the lining of his lungs. His leg starts bouncing, a subconscious habit he does to keep himself calm. For a distraction, Jimin takes out his phone, scrolls mindlessly.

They’re quiet for a while.

“Look,” Taehyung starts again, rubbing his temples. Jimin puts his phone down, adjusts his gaze. “If you’re gonna be the perceived brains behind all of this and if I’m gonna be the perceived face, the least we can do is try to understand where the other is coming from. Right? Because you’re not the only one here with a working brain, and I’m not a robot.”

Jimin blinks, trying to read between the lines. Leans forward and asks, “Is that what this is about? You’re worried people are gonna think you’re dumb?”

Taehyung’s sitting back on his hands now, palms to the dirty stage floor. Despite that, just for a second, he begins to bite at what Jimin assumes is a nonexistent hangnail on his index finger. He catches the gesture before he fully completes it, runs his hand through his hair instead. A few curls fall on his face, hiding his eyes a little. Jimin wonders if it was intentional. He remains quiet.

“That’s insane because,” Jimin shakes his head, stuffs his phone back in his pocket, “you’re a lot of things Taehyung, but dumb is clearly not one of them.”

Truthfully, Jimin doesn’t know Taehyung well enough to decipher the look on his face. Too many contradicting microexpressions in one. The silence returns, but it hangs over them for just a second too long. Jimin swallows harder than he means to, a swelling in his throat that’s starting to feel like a tennis ball pushing against his Adam's apple.

Keeping his eyes down, Jimin watches Taehyung’s chest rise and fall as he takes in a breath. Then, like he’s composed himself, he looks up at Jimin and says, “Whatever.” But there’s a little too much effort to sound indifferent; Jimin sees right through it. Makes a gesture with his hand and says, “Let’s just... start.”

There’s a lingering thought in Jimin’s head, something akin to worry, that maybe he somehow offended Taehyung with his comment. He’s not sure why, though. Maybe he was completely off and Taehyung was never trying to prove his intelligence, and now he’s insulted him in some way by implying it. Jimin crosses his arms.

If Jimin’s honest, he’s still unclear on this whole individual meeting thing, or what they’re even supposed to talk about. But if Taehyung’s willing to move past this awkward moment and replace it with another one as they try to figure out how to spend the rest of their time, then so be it.

So he shrugs and says, “Fine. Start where?”

Taehyung uncrosses his legs and gets comfortable on stage in a position that doesn’t look comfortable. Offers, “Your vision for the show. You must have an idea in your head for it. Something you’re trying to make a reality. And after doing a few shows, there must be stuff that sticks out to you. Things that worked, things that didn’t.” He pauses for a second, then says, “So what are they?”

It feels a little personal although it’s a business-based question, entirely fair play. Maybe it’s because this tour has been something Jimin’s been working toward for so many years—possibly his whole career. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and now he’s holding it in his hands, and he’s terrified he’s going to drop it. Shatter it into tiny pieces and cut everyone around him.

And so that protective nature in Jimin, the part of him that instinctively keeps his dreams and the people he loves safe, almost tells Taehyung it’s none of his business. His ambitions, his aspirations, his wishes. Because he does have bigger dreams and higher hopes for the show than what has been produced. But if he’s honest, he’s afraid that if they strive higher, push themselves more, they’ll fail. And knowing that’s the truth tastes sour on Jimin’s tongue.

He isn’t sure if Taehyung deserves to know that.

But then he remembers what Taehyung said not too long ago. About them at least trying to be on the same page. And he knows it’s impossible to level with someone if you don’t give a little of yourself, allow the other person something to latch on to.

So he swallows whatever pride has built up in his throat and bears his soul a little to the last person he ever thought he would.

In the attempt at a final, desperate grasp at self-preservation, Jimin’s response is vague. At least, it’s vague compared to what he didn’t say. Instead of really diving deep, he focuses on what he wants from the models and touches on his hopes for a positive reaction from the general public and industry leaders.

It’s not much, but it’s a start. But what’s interesting is that when Jimin speaks, Taehyung listens— actually listens. Jimin can see it in his eyes. The undivided attention, the small nods to show he’s following Jimin’s logic and train of thought. It’s nice, actually, to share some of his anxieties with someone. He tends to keep it to himself.

Somehow, speaking with Taehyung doesn’t feel like such a surrender.

✢

They talk until their time’s up. Until Yoongi comes back to get Taehyung, making a joke about how the lack of blood on the floor or on their faces must be a good sign.

“You’re so funny, hyung, wow,” Taehyung says dryly, standing up. Jimin watches him dust off his pants.

Yoongi brought him a drink. Something that looks orange-flavored and sweet. Passes it to him with a playfully stern look in his eye like it’s meant to shut him up. Taehyung bites his straw as he takes a sip, and Jimin finds himself studying the way his lips curl around the plastic. Jimin looks away, not sure why he’s noticed the action at all.

“Seriously,” Yoongi says. He looks back and forth between the two of them. “How’d it go?”

“We survived, stop prying,” Taehyung answers quickly, and the attitude Jimin’s most accustomed to knowing is back. The switch in his demeanor almost makes Jimin smile. He wonders which version of Taehyung is closest to the real one, the person he actually is when there’s no one for him to curb his personality to fit.

Jimin stands up, exhales. Says, “7 a.m. tomorrow.”

It’s Taehyung who speaks. Nods in Jimin’s direction and says, “I’ll be there.”

This time, Jimin believes him.

✢

Jimin knows he shouldn’t because he hates when people do this to him, but he looks Taehyung up online. It seems a little backward considering he already knows Taehyung. Or, at least, is already working with him. But their half an hour together has admittedly intrigued him.

Honestly, Jimin doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Overall, his opinion of Taehyung hasn’t changed because of one nearly meaningless conversation. As far as he’s concerned, he’s still a spoiled brat with a sh*tty attitude, but he’s curious about what exactly has been written about him online. Because Jimin knows what he’s heard and what’s been said to him from director to director, but he’s never really dissected it.

And at the very least, considering he and Yoongi have more or less given a blood oath to see out his contract, he should know for sure what he’s getting himself into. He’s doing it for the sake of his business, for the tour.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he clicks on an article titled Kim Taehyung: South Korea’s Rising AND Shooting Star? And Jimin knows good and well before he even takes in a paragraph that this is a poorly written piece by someone who has a negative bias toward Taehyung, but he reads it anyway.

Insider reports confirm time and time again that this drop-dead gorgeous new face might have more baggage than anyone’s prepared to handle, the article reads. The tone is one of a teen magazine highlighting the latest gossip. It only takes a few more lines before the article calls Taehyung a “troublemaking hottie."

Jimin knows the article is bottom of the barrel in terms of a quality source, but he keeps reading anyway. More often than not, the buzz on set after working with Kim Taehyung is that he’s “nearly impossible” to get along with and “complains about how the photographers run their sets.”

There’s a quote from a photographer who has opted to keep his name omitted. Claims, “He’s the epitome of a diva, critiques everything on set. The stuff he shot for me was great, but I’d definitely have to think long and hard about booking him again.”

And Jimin hates that he snorts, he really does, but he suddenly can relate to these anonymous anecdotes. Jimin clicks out of the article, having seen enough.

He means to check his emails one last time before bed, but another article catches his attention, and he can’t help himself, he clicks.

The following article is from a photographer who says he worked with Taehyung about half a year ago. This person claims that he and Taehyung got off on the wrong foot— “As he does with most people [laughter]”— but after setting aside their differences, he wasn’t “too bad.” He ends the quoted passage by saying, “Fantastic model though. Gorgeous. I would work with him again.”

Naturally, after saying something remotely in Taehyung’s favor, the nameless photographer was asked what happened between him and Taehyung that made him change his mind. The photographer claims he doesn’t “share secrets” but reportedly gave a “suggestive glance” to the interviewer.

And naturally, what follows in the article is a dating rumor. Or, as Jimin sees it, a slu*t-shaming implication tied to Taehyung’s sexuality that he’s apparently never been shy about. It sort of makes Jimin sick to his stomach, so he closes the article.

Jimin means to stop scrolling. He really does. It’s unprofessional and in bad taste. He knows that. But the next thing that catches his eye isn’t a headline, but a picture. A nice one, beautifully shot, of Taehyung. He’s modeling for what looks to be Versace—pretty makeup, but Taehyung doesn’t need any—in what looks to be an outdoors type of setup. He’s sitting in the grass, face toward the sun, highlighting his jaw and his side profile.

When Jimin clicks on the photo, it takes him to an article. A decent-looking one, actually. Simply titled All You Need to Know About Breakout Model Kim Taehyung.

Jimin skims it. Some things he knew from word of mouth, some things are new. Like Jimin never would’ve thought he had two younger siblings because honestly, he strikes heavily as an only child. Jimin learns that Taehyung got scouted when he was sixteen after moving to England with his family for reasons he chose not to disclose in the interview. Says his big break was in a Calvin Klein commercial, one selling cologne.

When asked about why he models, Taehyung says it’s the cross between photography and fashion—his two favorite things. And when asked about why he has such a bad reputation so early in his career, it’s reported that Taehyung didn’t comment, but instead ended the interview. Jimin doesn’t know exactly why he finds himself smiling, but he does.

The end of the article makes Jimin pull himself out of the internet’s black hole and back to reality. The time at the top of his phone says it’s almost 1 a.m.; he needs to go to sleep. No more snooping.

So Jimin turns on his alarm, locks his phone, and pulls the covers over his head.

He doesn’t remember to check his emails.

✢

Before Jimin is even fully into the dressing room, he hears the fight. Loud yelling and the legs of metal chairs scraping the warehouse floor like people are either charging each other or moving quickly out of the way.

Instantly, Jimin recognizes the voice of one of his models, Michael. He’s yelling as Jimin opens the door, “—just a f*ckin’ game to you! You’re selfish! ”

And a second later, Jimin realizes it’s Taehyung that’s at the other end of this commotion. Because it’s his voice, loud and deep, that yells back, “And you’re out of your f*ckin’ mind!”

There’s a circle around them. Some are watching, and some are trying to stop them from getting too close. Michael looks like he makes a spitting gesture in Taehyung’s direction, and Jimin’s too far to tell, but he might’ve actually done it because Taehyung charges him. Fast and determined like a bull, a clear intention to harm burning in his eyes. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, some yelling both in favor and disgust.

Jeongguk grabs Taehyung before he gets to Michael. A strong hand around his midsection as he pulls him backward. And now Jimin’s running toward them, but it doesn’t seem to be quick enough.

Everything’s happening too fast. Jimin hears Jeongguk telling Taehyung near-frantically in Korean, “He’s not worth it, hyung, no, calm down,” while Michael yells over everyone in English, “Hit me, bitch, I dare you! Put one f*ckin’ hand on me and see what happens! I’ll break your goddamn neck!”

Somehow, although Jimin’s positive he’s running full speed, Hoseok and Yoongi get there before him. He didn’t even know they were here. Both of them push their way to the middle, hands out, yelling for everyone to separate.

When Jimin arrives, two male models are holding Michael back, trying to calm him. And when he looks to the left, Jeongguk has Taehyung pinned to the wall.

It’s for his own good, apparently, because he looks something like a wild animal ready to attack. He’s trying desperately to break from Jeongguk’s hold, pushing harder than he should, yelling directly back at Michael. He’s got full tunnel vision, surely doesn’t notice the scratches he’s leaving on Jeongguk’s arm.

His face is red, eyes dark, voice breaking with rage. Jimin’s never seen him like this before, either of them, and he can’t even begin to fathom what happened to lead to this.

“Take him outside!” Yoongi instructs, and Jeongguk does. He’s stronger than Taehyung, more muscular, so he more or less manhandles him away from the crowd and toward the exit, feet kicking in protest.

Hoseok points in Michael’s direction, “And him! Take him to the bathroom or the breakroom, I don’t f*cking care, just somewhere else! ”

The two models that were already holding Michael back take care of it. Jimin watches as they escort him out, two firm grips on his arms so he can’t break loose.

With the two of them gone, it’s eerily quiet now. Everyone’s looking at Jimin, because he’s in charge, with an expectant look on their faces. Like they didn’t see more than him. Like they don’t know more than him. Jimin’s head feels like it’s spinning.

“Just,” he says with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “Get ready and get on stage. Now. We’re here because we have a job to do, remember?”

Honestly, he doesn’t know what else he can say. But everyone listens, grumbles to follow. Jimin stays for a moment, just to make sure no one else decides it’s a good day to knock someone’s teeth out. But after a few minutes, when all seems well, he grabs his bags and heads for his office.

Never a dull day with Taehyung on set, it seems.

✢

They have a show in days. The last thing Jimin needs is for everything to fall apart now. Less, Jimin doesn’t need his models acting like goddamn children. Picking fights with one another like they’re in the schoolyard, breaking off into cliques like a high school lunchroom—Jimin’s annoyed, disappointed.

He hates to come off as some dictator, or some asshole who doesn’t care about anything other than his business, his dream. But he’ll be damned if everything he’s worked for all of these years crumbles at the hands of those who would rather act recklessly than professionally. So he lined them up on stage and gave yet another ‘if you don’t wanna be here, leave’ speech, hoping maybe this time it’ll sink in. But like with most things nowadays, Jimin’s expectations are low.

“Our first show with our new lead is this Saturday,” Jimin had said, voice bordering on a yell. “Today is Wednesday. We literally don’t have time for this—the fights and the arguments, none of it. So I mean it, either pull it together or get the hell off my stage right now.”

Jimin’s eyes found Michael first, then Taehyung. Luckily their places in line are nowhere near each other for now, but their positions change in a blink of an eye during the show. Jimin needs to know that they can work together at the very least.

And his models stood tight-jawed, swaying almost uncomfortably back and forth as Jimin waited for anyone to leave. They chewed at their lips and picked at nonexistent scabs on their hands, waiting for this cloud to pass. For Jimin’s anger to dissipate and for their familiar atmosphere to return.

After two minutes of silence that felt more like two hours, Jimin let out a breath and told them, “Then let’s get to work.”

✢

It was a quiet practice, but a progressive one. They ran through the whole show twice with minimal mistakes. All of the new pointers Jimin had given them throughout their previous practices seemed to stick, and honestly, if he weren’t annoyed at them, Jimin would’ve been impressed.

They’re in good shape for their show this weekend, and Jimin knows that’s what he should focus on. But as he sits with Taehyung after practice, he can’t help but want to dig. The reason for the fight this morning has been picking at the back of Jimin’s brain since he first saw it. He doesn’t know why he wants to know so badly. This isn’t usually something he’d wish to details on. It’s not professional.

Taehyung seems fond of clothes that are too big for him. He’s all but drowning in his oversized white tee and baggy green sweatpants. It’s flattering on him though somehow. Accentuates the leanness of his shoulders, broadens the expanse of his chest. But the bagginess of the clothing hides Taehyung’s slim waist and long legs. It’s a bit of a shame—from a fashion standpoint, of course.

“Do I even wanna know?” Jimin starts, trying to make it lighthearted. Taehyung stops playing with the tongue or this sneaker and looks up at Jimin through his curls. He lifts an eyebrow in question, making Jimin spell it out. With a roll of his eyes, Jimin follows up with, “The fight.”

“I didn’t start it,” is all that Taehyung mutters, eyes falling back down to his sneakers. He picks at the side of them, pretends to be amused.

They’re a few feet away from one another on stage, both in a cross-legged position. The spotlights are dimmed and the music is gone. There’s no one in the metal chairs behind them made for an audience. It’s just the two of them and the silence. Jimin hears himself swallow, his heart beating.

“I didn’t say you did,” he replies pointedly, choosing his words carefully. Taehyung’s fringe swings back and forth like a pendulum as he fusses with the side of his sneaker. Jimin watches the tips of his hair sway, then focuses on the bridge of Taehyung’s nose, his cheekbones. The undertones of his caramel-tinted skin are turning red like he’s getting upset all over again.

Jimin takes in a slow deep breath. He swallows again. Digs as lightly as he can, “So he said something to you, then?”

Taehyung looks up, finds Jimin’s eyes quickly, and holds his gaze. And for just a moment, the flames that Jimin’s learning are always behind Taehyung’s pupils burn bright red. But then he blinks and there’s recovery smoke instead. Thick and murky, floating away out of his ears. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles.

“Mattered enough for you to wanna rip each other’s heads off,” Jimin counters. Then, because he’s starting to feel like he’s pushing—(which, honestly, he knows he is)—says, “Look, I just wanna know if it’s gonna happen again because—”

“Not if he keeps his mouth shut.”

Jimin’s molars clack audibly when they meet, jaw snapping closed. His tongue presses against the roof of his mouth and traces along the ridges there. He looks away, giving up. It’s none of his business anyway, not really. He can say it is because Taehyung and Michael both work for him, but if it’s a personal issue that has been resolved, he doesn’t have any right to know.

But just as Jimin’s accepting that, ready to change the subject back to work, Taehyung sighs and says just barely loud enough, “He came outta nowhere accusing me of trying to sabotage the show. Pissed me off.”

Truthfully, the only things Jimin usually knows about his models are what’s available in their files and the tiny doses of their personality they give while working a job. He doesn’t mingle with them, doesn’t meet up with them outside of work. So his impressions of them begin and end in the workplace.

And because of that, Jimin knows he doesn’t have any factual basis for saying this, but he responds anyway, “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung scoffs, sarcasm soaking through his tone like it always seems to be. “And he was just kidding when he said he was going to snap my neck.”

“You said some sh*t too,” Jimin responds, and he’s not sure why he’s doing this. Why he’s coming across as defending Michael, taking his side—why it sounds like he’s starting a fight. Maybe it’s a loyalty thing because Michael’s worked for Jimin without a blip for years, and Taehyung’s been here for less than two weeks and he’s already making waves.

The flames in Taehyung’s eyes are back. “Yeah, after he said sh*t to me first.” Leans forward and adds, “Comes to me saying I’m only here to poison the progress or whatever. Called me ungrateful and selfish. Something about me being an overnight success with no real talent. And I’m not supposed to say anything back?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Jimin’s voice trails off.

Jimin can’t condone the way Michael’s gone about it, but he understands. They’re scared, all of them. This tour means just as much to them as it does to Jimin. Auditions were like boot camp, brutal and draining. People were cut every day for a week and a half. Those that are here fought for their spot—rightfully earned it. Taehyung didn’t go through what they did to be here. He’s the odd one out for more reasons than one.

Taehyung makes a face. “Just…?”

Jimin sighs, rubs his temples as he tries to think of what to say. He feels Taehyung’s eyes burning holes in his skin.

Most of the models on this tour aren’t big names. They’ve had a few years in the industry, sure, but this is their big break—a chance to make their name well-known. Something shiny and pretty to tack to the top of their résumé so they can continue to snag jobs like this.

And then in comes Taehyung: practically a newborn in the industry compared to the majority of them, shot to the top out of nowhere and been on more runways than they could even imagine. He came out of the woodwork, and that has visibly pissed a lot of established but lesser-known models off. Jimin heard the rumblings before Taehyung even made it onto his set.

The rumors and negativity follow Taehyung around like a shadow, clinging to him like a foul odor. It was apparent that Jimin wasn’t the only one hesitant to have him as part of the team. And now that he’s here, there’s a different type of spotlight on the project. One that’s especially awaiting his downfall—their downfall.

Trying to approach that as gently as possible, Jimin settles on: “This is more than just a job for most of them. Emotions are high. They’re stressed.”

“I already told you,” Taehyung says, annoyance slipping through the cracks of his words like water. “I’m taking this seriously. I gotta prove that to everyone else here too?”

If he were anyone else, he wouldn’t have to. But he’s him, so the foundation of this tour can crumble to ashes at his feet with just one particularly scathing review—even if it’s specifically aimed at him. It’s a domino effect. Jimin isn’t sure Taehyung sees it.

They’re all playing Russian Roulette with their careers. And Taehyung’s holding the gun whether he knows it or not.

Licking his lips, hoping it’ll make the words slide off his tongue a little easier, Jimin says, “You’ll have offers after this project no matter what. You already do. The demand for you is… you know. But for the rest of them, it’s not so set in stone. They have a lot riding on this tour.”

Taehyung’s quiet, but only for a second. Blinks and asks, voice much softer, like maybe he cares a little, “And you, too?”

Jimin’s heart does something funny, beats too quickly and then too slowly. Feels it jump in his chest, slam hard in his ears. His fingertips tingle, then go cold.

He wasn’t expecting Taehyung to turn this on him. And maybe it’s because Jimin isn’t too good at opening up, especially to someone his gut tells him over and over he can’t trust. But he’s honest nonetheless. Sort of just drips off his tongue like syrup.

Says through clenched teeth, “Yeah.”

It’s a little different for Jimin. Similar to Taehyung, he’ll continue to have projects after this one. But similar to his models, the upward mobility of his status in the industry is on the back of his tour. He’ll either go up from here or plateau. Might finish his career years from now right where he is—disappointed and yearning for more. It’s a scary thought.

And it’s a shame too because it’s not Taehyung’s fault. Not really, Jimin figures. Sure it’s his bad press that’s followed him onto Jimin’s set, and his own bad attitude that attracted them, but Jimin knows this is just the world they’re in. Everyone is on the edge of their seat, waiting for someone else’s downfall. Right now, Taehyung’s just at the top of their list.

So he says again, so that Taehyung gets the total weight of his presence here, “Me too, Taehyung.”

Their silence is stuffed, heavy. Jimin thinks he can see the weight of this conversation taking place on Taehyung’s shoulders, weighing him down. This, along with all of the other pressures he has from being in the spotlight. His gaze zigzags down to the stage, eyebrows furrowed, staring at nothing in particular.

Jimin doesn’t envy him or his position in the media, but he doesn’t pity him either. Taehyung chose this career and he’s in charge of his own actions. He’s been the lighter fluid burning his own bridges for a while now. The only thing Jimin can hope for is that he and his project are incombustible.

Taehyung’s nostrils flare, thinking. His eyes have softened just a little, features almost open when he looks back at Jimin—sincerity somewhere in there. Says, “I won’t ruin this for you.” He shrugs, almost smiles, but it’s a bitter kind. Adds before Jimin can say anything, “At least, not on purpose. I don’t control what they write about me.”

There goes Jimin's heart again. He feels it at every pulse point, beating hard and quick, spiking. Jimin licks his lips again, and they’re dry. He breathes out through his nose.

“For us,” Jimin tries to correct, meaning the models too, but the words are dry too; he chokes on them a little. Clears his throat as he stands up and dusts his pants off. “I’m not the only one here.”

Taehyung just nods, offers a smile that’s more so just the pressing together of his lips, making them into a line. Jimin feels Taehyung’s eyes crawl up the length of his legs. Up his shins, over the curve of his knee, to his thighs.

And Taehyung’s stare burns, tingles in a way Jimin doesn’t understand. So he clears his throat awkwardly, trying to avert Taehyung’s eyes to meet his own. But when Taehyung’s eyes meet Jimin’s, that tingles too.

“Let’s get back to work,” Jimin says, changing the subject. “We have a lot of sh*t to work on before the show.”

And they do. They get back to work. They talk about the show, they tweak tiny things here and there, and he has Taehyung practice his walk. But there’s a weight that sits heavy on Jimin’s chest for the remainder of their time together, and the tingle never quite goes away.

✢

As the days go by, Jimin’s bones become weighed down. Heavy, like anchors, dragging on the floor each morning. He tells himself it’s the long hours he’s been putting in—coming in early, staying late, last-minute adjustments. Tells himself it’s fatigue.

If he’s honest with himself, which he refuses to be so close to a show, it’s his anxiety setting in. Always happens before a show, so he should be used to it, but this feels different.

He imagines every athlete feels something similar as an important game approaches or any musician preparing for a bigger venue than they’re used to. But this feeling is almost crippling; Jiminfeels it under his skin, sinking into his veins.

It’s nerve-wracking to turn on the television or read a magazine or scroll through social media. He doesn’t want to know what the world is saying about his tour, and doesn't think he can handle a random opinion.

So he lives in a bubble the final days leading up to the show. For the first time, Jimin finds himself a bit thankful for his after-practice meetings with Taehyung. Not because he was looking forward to them in particular, but because it was an extra forty-five minutes of work. Kept him busy, focused.

To Jimin’s surprise, Taehyung’s professionalism begins to shine as the deadline approaches. And by the night before, he’s all business. He and Jimin take an extra fifteen minutes past their scheduled time ironing out the final kinks.

Jimin has learned that one thing he and Taehyung have in common is that they’re both perfectionists. Annoyingly so. But when it comes to something like this, it comes in handy. They argued, sure, but it was the productive kind. Some of Taehyung’s suggestions were good, Jimin can admit. And after fighting tooth and nail for their opinions, they came to a finishing point.

Taehyung sits back on his hands, smiles through a sigh, and questions, “That’s it? We’re done?”

They’ve gone over the show enough times to make them nauseous. Taehyung has memorized everything he had to, knows it like the back of his hand now. Music has been finalized, tweaks to formations, wardrobe updates, makeup adjustments, all of it.

So Jimin puts the notepad he’s been scribbling in for about two weeks aside and says, satisfied, “That’s it.”

Having nothing else to work on for now doesn’t even feel real. Jimin can’t help but smile as he closes the notepad, clicks the pen. He stands up, feels his knees protest the action. Taehyung follows suit, standing. Their eye contact is a bit awkward. Neither of them is sure what to say.

“So,” Taehyung says, pulling the sleeves of his practice shirt over his knuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening?”

No morning practice like they’ve gotten used to. Show day tomorrow. Everything they’ve been working on gets put to the test.

So Jimin nods, shrugs. “Yeah. Yeah, um…get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

For a moment too long, just a split second, Taehyung looks like he has something to say. Something on the tip of his tongue that he almost lets out, trapping it right behind his teeth. Catching it, Jimin must raise his eyebrows in question—make some sort of indication that he’s picked up on Taehyung’s microexpression.

The silence is thick, just for a second longer.

“Night,” Taehyung seems to settle on. Breezy, light. Half-waves a hand and spins around to head in the opposite direction before Jimin has a chance to answer.

Jimin watches him walk away. Stares at his back until he’s no longer in eyesight and he’s the only one on stage. And it’s only then that Jimin says, barely audible to even himself, “Night.”

✢

It’s Saturday and Jimin has chewed his bottom lip raw. He’s backstage fussing with something he most definitely doesn’t need to be bustling with, but he needs to keep his hands moving. Primarily to hide the fact that they’re shaking. He hates being visibly nervous.

Behind him is a circus as it always is. But a more organized one, even if he has to say so himself. Hair and makeup are putting their finishing touches on the models, and the assistants are reminding everyone of how much time they have. Models are scurrying back and forth.

“Seven minutes, everyone! Seven!”

Jimin’s stomach turns.

Since the start of the tour, they’ve had a handful of shows—all that were successful, Jimin stresses himself to remember—but tonight is special. Since word has gotten out about Taehyung to the media and seeped into the ears of others in the industry, Jimin has felt the heat of a spotlight on his back. Feels like everyone watching them through a microscope, dissecting.

Taehyung has done one exclusive interview since the initial press conference. Honestly, with the stress of everything else, Jimin hasn’t had the time nor the stomach to read it. Because if Taehyung said anything even remotely negative about the tour, Jimin thinks he’d strangle him with his bare hands. And that’s not very professional, apparently.

So for everyone’s sake, Jimin has pretended the interview doesn’t exist. Hasn’t even brought it up in any of their other after-practice meetings, although Taehyung tried once. Hoseok’s read it, though. Claims it’s ‘much better' than the press conference. Jimin bit his tongue, fought off the urge to remind him that anything is better than the press conference.

Honestly, Jimin has never seen his name so much in magazines, on journals and blogs online, and on television in his whole career. A lot more eyes are on him and his tour and will be until the very last show now. It’s intimidating, even if he’ll never let how much fully show.

He’s seen the headlines: “Under the Lights: Runway Tour looking to recover from a rocky start after lead model calls it quits,” and “How will breakout star Kim Taehyung fare in new lead position?” and “Fashion Producer Park Jimin…mid-career crisis?” It’s just a constant reminder that more people are expecting a failure than an achievement.

And Jimin’s used to being the underdog, so it’s okay. He’s climbed his way up to where he is now step by step, with no shortcuts, no handouts. So he’s also used to others not always supporting him and his projects fully. But this tour is something special—something he’s been working toward for longer than he likes to admit out loud. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t feeling the pressure and that it didn’t make him nervous.

“Five minutes! Five minutes!”

Everything Jimin hears is amplified. The click-clack of high heels on the tile floor, the ruffling of papers as his assistants try to give the show’s program a final once-over, even the gentle sweeping of makeup brushes over foreheads and cheekbones. But none of what Jimin hears is louder than the taunting thump-thump-thump of his heart, reminding him over and over that this is either the beginning or end of his career as he knows it.

For a while, Jimin feels numb. He takes on the bodily figure of the producer—adjusts outfits on his models, gives Hoseok a list of things to check before they’re live, scribbles his signature on papers he can’t remember their purpose for, and even gives everyone some encouraging words. On the outside, he’s calm, patient. But he’s just going through the motions.

Vaguely, Jimin remembers his speech. Mostly he remembers the blurred edges of his vision and the twitching of his fingertips in his dress pants pockets as he spoke. He remembers Hoseok giving him his nervous-smile behind the wall of models circled around him. One that told Jimin he looked as nervous as he felt. At least to Hoseok, who knows him better than anyone.

“Ready?” Hoseok asks once the models disperse, inspired and confident, now that Jimin’s given them a pep talk.

Jimin nearly scoffs, because no, he’s not ready. He actually thinks maybe he’ll throw up before the opening music even plays. There are so many people in the audience, the whole place is buzzing. So many reporters, too. Jimin’s heart might actually beat out of his chest.

But instead, he shrugs his shoulders as nonchalantly as he can muster and says, “‘Course.”

“‘Course,” Hoseok mimics, robotic shoulder shrug and all. He covers his mouth and says, “God, you’re sh*tting your pants, aren’t you?”

Jimin makes a face, deadpan, and then walks away. He’s not in the mood to be perceived. And even worse, he doesn’t have it in him to admit it, but he can’t lie to Hoseok. So it’s better just to remove himself from the conversation altogether.

“Wha—Jimin! I was kidding!” he hears Hoseok call. He’s laughing now, an evil type of chuckle, but it’s fading in Jimin’s ears as he’s making his way to the other side of backstage. Twists and turns through busy bodies, all hurrying as the seconds pass too quickly.

Honestly, Jimin doesn’t know where he’s headed. Everything is a little too loud and a little too bright, he wants to sit in his office for a while and collect himself. But he can’t. He hears someone behind him advising that there are only three minutes to showtime now and f*ck, he feels his heart shaking his whole body.

His unsteady legs take him through the aisle of vanities the models sit at, past the break area overstuffed with stagehands, and toward the bathrooms. Maybe he just needs to splash some cold water on his face, center himself that way.

Jimin’s hand reaches for the door just as it swings open, the person on the other side clearly in a hurry. Instinctively, Jimin takes a quick step back, avoiding the collision.

“Sorry, I—”

A dangling earring catches Jimin’s attention first. Sparkly, expensive, with a sapphire stud right where it sits on the lobe. Then, lips with a subtle but pretty shade of pink smeared precisely over them, beauty mark still visible despite the make-up. A nose people out in Los Angeles pay surgeons thousands to create. Wide eyes with thick, defined lower lashes. Perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed in amusem*nt, angled right at Jimin.

“Taehyung,” Jimin breathes. He takes a step back, scratches at the side of his head. “Sorry, um. I was—didn’t mean to…”

Jimin doesn’t know why the first clear thought he has is that Taehyung looks stunning. He sort of always does—perks of being a model and all—but tonight, right now, he looks gorgeous.

And Jimin’s seen Taehyung in this outfit before, in this makeup before, but it’s different for some reason. Even in the unflattering overhead lighting outside of the bathrooms, his skin looks healthy and his eyes are bright and he just looks so—

“You always this nervous before a show?” he asks Jimin, a smug smile tugging lightly on the corner of his mouth.

Subconsciously, Jimin adjusts his suit jacket. He tugs at the lapels and clears his throat. He takes another half-step back as if the distance is giving him time to think.

Says with a defeated type of smile, “Not always this nervous. Just—I know there’s a lot of people out there. A lot of reporters and colleagues who have never given a damn about how my shows have gone before.”

Jimin doesn’t know why it’s so easy to say this to Taehyung. He doesn’t think he’d tell anyone here about his worries. Not even Hoseok, apparently. He needs to put on a facade for everyone else. Something about Taehyung lets Jimin know he’d probably see right through it, and call him on his bullsh*t, so he doesn’t even try.

Taehyung gestures to himself. Says proudly like he’s reading a headline, “New lead, new start.”

“New chance to fail,” Jimin’s anxiety says before his brain’s filter has a chance to tell it to shut up. He bites the inside of his bottom lip hard, tells himself he deserves the spike in pain he receives.

To that, Taehyung huffs. A forced laugh, just a push of air. Licks his lips and says sarcastically, “Thanks, boss.”

The face he makes is cute, though—a scrunch of his nose, the pinching of his brows. Jimin almost smiles.

“No pressure or anything,” Jimin tries to joke, mouth still going for some reason. He lets out a pained type of chuckle. Taehyung grins, but it seems to be more at Jimin’s behavior than his words.

“None taken,” Taehyung jokes back, shaking his head.

He runs his hand through his hair, messing it up perfectly. The strands fall back into place like magic, some draping over his right eyebrow. Jimin finds himself tracing a few curls with his eyes, momentarily intrigued.

And maybe Jimin’s a little too transfixed, staring like an idiot, that he doesn’t realize Taehyung’s reaching for him. Doesn’t realize it until Taehyung’s hand is over his, just for a second, as he says quietly, like this is just for Jimin’s ears, “I know how much this means to you. All of it. It’ll be great. Try not to worry.”

Taehyung’s hand is gone before Jimin can even correctly register it, but the back of his hand tingles where he was touched. He feels heat there, and a sensation he doesn’t dare to put a label on shooting up his arm. It must be his nerves. Jimin feels his chest tighten.

When Jimin finally makes eye contact, Taehyung’s looking at him in a way he never has before. So much sincerity and honesty in his eyes, like he wants Jimin to believe him—to trust him.

Says like a promise, “It’s gonna be a good show. And you’ll get good reviews. I’ll make sure.”

Jimin’s thankful that Hoseok calls Taehyung away then. Doesn’t allow Jimin the opportunity to respond, which is fine, because he has something near the size of a tennis ball in his throat. He says nothing, just presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth a little harder.

Taehyung looks over Jimin’s shoulder, spots Hoseok, and gives him a nod. Tells Jimin, “I gotta go,” and squeezes past him, heading for the stage.

“Good luck,” Jimin calls, turning on his heel, voice chasing Taehyung. He watches the way Taehyung’s hair bounces as he turns around and studies the stitching pattern on the suit jacket he’s wearing. When Taehyung turns around, Jimin looks away. Only for a second. Adds a bit under his breath, “And… thank you.”

The smile Taehyung gives Jimin this time is a genuine one. It’s pretty. Taehyung has a pretty smile too, Jimin notices.

“Thank me with a drink or something after everyone out there gives your show a raving review by tomorrow,” he says, his smile still lingering on his lips.

It’s a loose proposition, one that probably doesn’t have much weight to it, but Jimin feels it sitting heavy on his chest. He nods, offers another smile, and ignores the weird pattern his heart has decided to beat in for a while.

“Deal,” Jimin agrees, not too sure what else to say. Then, shooing Taehyung away, “Go, you’re gonna miss your cue.”

Taehyung merges into the mess of bodies backstage, but Jimin never entirely loses sight of him. Doesn’t really mean to, but watches him approach Hoseok with a smile, exchange quick words with him, give Yoongi a hug, and then take his place just seconds before the show starts.

Then time passes in snapshots again. Jimin blinks, and there’s so much applause his eardrums hurt. He blinks again and the opening music is playing, indicating the start. He blinks one more time and he’s stationed in the perfect spot to see everything.

Jimin stands there with his bottom lip between his teeth and his heart in his hands, offering it to everyone around him, hoping all of their hard work has paid off.

✢

There are enough people packed into the warehouse that it looks never-ending. Bodies and bodies and bodies.

It’s too dark, Jimin can’t watch their faces as the show begins. But from where he’s standing, he can see his models perfectly, and that’s all that matters.

They’ve performed this before, so everyone including Jimin has some level of comfort. But there’s always something different each show—a new release from a designer, new music to walk to, different make-up, unique formations. The show is different when it’s just for the audience versus when it’s broadcasted live on television. And because of that, although they’ve performed this before, each show is new somehow.

Jimin feels the music—every beat, every chord—in his bones, feels each snap of the cameras fluttering in his eardrum, tickling it. When his models walk, he feels it in his legs. Feels the adrenaline coursing through their veins as they change in rapid-speed from one outfit to the next, popping back on stage as quickly as they popped out.

Seeing his shows live is like watching a well-oiled machine work. Whether they’re in the front or the far back, each model plays a vital role in the whole show. Jimin and Hoseok (and Taehyung, if Jimin’s being technical) worked their asses off to try to highlight each model as well, not just the lead.

The vibration under Jimin’s feet as models and assistants and crew members trot back and forth to their places feels like a stampede. The rumbling of voices intertwining with the music overlapping with the hum of the crowd is trance-like. Jimin feels like he’s outside of his body looking in. He thinks he stares wide-eyed the whole time.

And when it’s over—when the crowd stands and gives them a standing ovation, when his models are smiling so big it must hurt their cheeks, when the journalists in the crowd are scribbling this and that onto their notepads—Jimin feels… happy. Proud. Accomplished.

Feels it deep, deep in his heart.

It’s beautiful, and he’s never felt so in love with his work.

✢

Jimin would be lying if he said there hadn’t been times when he’s regretted giving Hoseok keys to his apartment.

There are two bedrooms, and Hoseok has happily made himself comfortable in the spare room, donning it his room. Jimin has come home late at night and discovered Hoseok already there, not always alone, claiming Jimin’s place was closer, and he was too drunk to make it home.

And while Jimin isn’t too fond of surprises, Hoseok loves them. More than once over the years, Jimin has walked into a surprise party—sometimes for his birthday, other times for a celebration Hoseok has created all on his own. It’s always a toss-up of what Jimin is going to come home to.

Or, this morning in particular, what he’ll wake up to.

“Jimin.”

Hoseok uses his bed as a trampoline, jumping so hard the headboard is smacking the wall behind it. Feels both of Hoseok’s feet making threateningly close impressions on either side of his body.

It’s then that Jimin’s mentally reprimanding himself for having one too many drinks last night. He was nervous, pacing his apartment late at night, worried about what would be in the media tomorrow about his show. He knows that a seemingly pleased crowd and straight-faced reporters in the audience doesn’t always mean good reviews. He stayed up until almost three in the morning overthinking, worrying.

“How the f*ck are you still sleeping right now? Seriously?” A body crashes on top of Jimin’s with minimal grace and bearhugs him. A pointy chin digs into his shoulder, shooting pain up his neck like a pinched nerve. Jimin groans, Hoseok groans too. “Jimin, wake up.”

“I’m up, you psycho,” Jimin mumbles into the pillow, still fighting the grogginess. Starts, “What do you—” Then it hits Jimin. Hard and fast, like a bat to the head. He sits up too quickly, blood rushing fast enough to make him nauseous for a moment. Jimin gasps, “The reviews.”

Hoseok’s hug is more aggressive than it is comforting, but Jimin’s sure it’s just the whiskey still rumbling around in his gut. Hoseok sings in Jimin’s ear, “They f*ckin’ loooved it!”

An iPad is plopped onto Jimin’s lap. Jimin tries to read the headline as Hoseok hugs him, but he’s being rocked too fast for his hungover eyes to keep up. He squints at the screen, the brightness intensifying his headache. He closes his eyes, sighs.

“Can you…” Jimin starts. Finally, he hugs Hoseok back and rests his head against his. “Hyung, can you read it to me?”

He hears Hoseok giggle softly, deep in his chest. A sweet sound. Then there’s a quick peck to Jimin’s temple and a hand ruffling through his messy bed head. “Yeah,” Hoseok agrees.

Jimin keeps his eyes closed as he listens. Sits hunched over, hands covering his face. He knows it’s good news; Hoseok has already said so, but his heart is pounding and his throat is dry. His ear canals tingle when Hoseok begins. The hand petting through Jimin’s hair remains, slow and soothing.

“Following its last show in Rome, many had questioned the stability of Park Jimin’s Under The Lights: Runway Tour as word spread that former lead, Choi Hanwool, had abruptly dropped out. The latest show in New York City has squashed all suspicion and replaced it with excitement and hope,” Hoseok begins. Jimin bites his bottom lip, squeezes his eyes shut tighter, and listens.

Continuing, Hoseok reads, “Although this show—slotted as the first of three in New York—came with uncertainties as well, breakout model Kim Taehyung hopping on board being number one, the final result was nothing but seamless. ”

“Nice pun,” Jimin mumbles.

Hoseok only stops to chuckle. Then he continues, “The show was more dynamic than ever. It paired bright lights with upbeat music and flaunted anticipated releases from lines such as Saint Laurent, Louis Vuitton, Burberry, and Balenciaga—I told you swapping out Versace for Saint Laurent was a good move.”

Of course, Hoseok stops to gloat. But it’s well earned. This tour is just as much Hoseok’s as it is Jimin’s, and Jimin does all he can to remind him of that. They’re a team; they’re family.

“Shut up,” Jimin says. Then, smiling, “And thank you.”

“This part is about you,” Hoseok warns. Jimin feels his stomach knot. “The show’s producer, Park Jimin, continues to impress his audience with additions and changes to each show. And while Park is no newbie to the industry, it clearly takes authentic talent to continue to raise the bar the way his tours do.”

Jimin looks up. Mumbles, “Holy sh*t.”

Hoseok’s smile is blinding, bright. He tosses the iPad at Jimin and says, “Holy sh*t is right. There’s more, you can read it yourself now that you see it’s just two thousand words of your praise—which you obviously have a kink for.”

Again, Jimin tells him, “Shut up.” He throws a pillow weakly in Hoseok’s direction. He catches it easily, places it beside them.

Hoseok’s standing now, announcing his exit. “It’s a really great article, actually. They talk a lot about Taehyung, of course, but some other models got shoutouts too. They’ll be happy. And all of the other stuff I’ve seen written about last night is just as good.” Hoseok places his hands on his hips, gives Jimin a proud smile, and tells him, “Congrats, kid.”

Jimin’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “Thanks, hyung.”

As Hoseok reaches the doorframe, he stops and spins around. Lifts a suspicious eyebrow and asks, “You’re canceling practice today, right? A day off for their hard work? Or, at least, to celebrate the show’s success?”

And despite Jimin feeling so buzzed he could bounce off the walls, the last thing he wants to do is lose traction or focus. He can’t risk his models losing it, either. A successful show to Jimin just means they need to work to keep the momentum going. They only have two weeks to start preparing for their next one.

So he says, “Hell no. Call everyone. We’ll start at three.”

Hoseok’s laugh is a pained one. He covers his heart like he’s been stabbed and says, “So strict. All work, no play.” Then, with a roll of his eyes after seeing Jimin has no plans on budging, “Fine, I’ll let them know.”

“Yeah, well, they’ll all thank me when we have the most successful runway tour in history!” Jimin calls as Hoseok flips him off and closes his door with a little too much strength. Dramatic as always.

He hears Hoseok call from a few steps away, “You’re boring!”

Jimin laughs. Figures he’d rather be boring and successful than exciting and washed up.

✢

Needless to say, Hoseok wasn’t the only person with a sour look painted on during the entire duration of practice. They all cracked smiles and cheered when Jimin sat them on stage and read another article praising their tour, but once it was time to get back to work, their shoulders deflated.

“Listen,” Jimin starts. “I know you all want to celebrate the show and the positive response from the media, and you’re free to do that after we tweak a few things. We only have two weeks before our next show.”

Their circle disperses slowly, soft rumblings as they all spread out on stage, awaiting further instructions. Jimin stands too, watches as they all form a staggered line, roughly shoulder to shoulder. They all look at him, curiosity in their eyes.

Letting out a breath, Jimin flips through the notes he keeps on his phone and says, “Today, I think we’ll start with… switching up some of our formations.”

Almost instantly, Jimin feels the right side of his face burning, a pair of eyes looking at him a little too intensely. When Jimin glances in their direction, he catches hold of Taehyung’s gaze. He seems a bit stunned.

“Wouldn’t want anyone to think we’re elementary, would we?” Jimin says, a playful dig at Taehyung’s comment from their first fight. Everyone giggles softly.

When Jimin cuts his eye again, he sees Taehyung give him a slight nod and a smug type of grin.

✢

Yoongi offered to cancel today’s after-practice “business meeting” in celebration of last night’s positive reviews that followed. Still, Jimin said he was in if Taehyung was, so here they are.

Maybe it’s because the stress of the show is behind them for now, but there’s significantly less tension in the air between them. Sometimes it’s so thick Jimin can barely see through it, all blurred shapes and smeared colors. But today—for right now—the only thing between them is the air they breathe.

They’ve done the painful small talk and then skimmed over things to adjust for the next show. Jimin said he was open to hearing some of Taehyung’s suggestions, which isn’t a lie, and Taehyung seemed pleased to hear that. But now, there’s not much else for the two of them to talk about.

So they sit in silence.

Taehyung’s sneaker is smacking the front of the stage as he sits with his legs dangling over the edge. He lifts his head, finds Jimin through his curls, and says sort of out of the blue, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

To that, Jimin lifts an eyebrow, confused.

Clarifying, Taehyung says in a tone that seems to imply that Jimin is silly for not connecting these dots himself, “For your shining, raving reviews...”

“Yeah, because it was all you,” Jimin huffs out. He shakes his head as he reaches for his phone. He scrolls past pictures and posts that he doesn’t even bother actually to look at.

“You saw. Headlines say I’m… phenomenal,” Taehyung continues. Jimin keeps his eyes glued to his phone screen so that he doesn’t roll them. “That I bring spark and spice to the production. A new energy. Couldn’t have done it without me.”

When Jimin has had enough, ready to tell Taehyung he’s a little too full of himself, Jimin lifts his head and sees Taehyung smiling. He looks pleased to have gotten a rise out of Jimin, and Jimin immediately mentally smacks himself for being so easy. And he can’t help it, he smiles back.

“Kidding,” Taehyung says, teeth grazing over his bottom lip as he holds back a chuckle. “Those same reporters are probably writing a piece that drags me through the mud as we speak. I don’t care what they write. Even when it’s nice, it’s fake.”

Honestly, Jimin’s name isn’t in the media too often, and he very much prefers to keep it that way, but he knows the whiplash of the media circus. One day they love you; the next day, you’re trash. Jimin can’t imagine what it must be like for someone like Taehyung.

“They were right, though,” Jimin says—admits. Shrugs and tells him, “You were perfect. I mean, all of you were, of course. But you had to learn so much in such a short amount of time. I’m sure it was rough.”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, sort of just looks away. There’s a faint, awkward smile brushing over his lips. It’s weird being civil to each other, so Jimin understands. He’s not sure how long the ceasefire will last, so he’s treading lightly. He doesn’t feel like arguing today.

Eventually, like a belated thought, after seconds and seconds of silence, Taehyung breathes, “Thanks.”

More silence.

Air passes between them slowly.

The emptiness gives Jimin’s mind a chance to linger. Oddly, out of all things, it settles on Taehyung. His outfit, specifically. He changed, which he doesn’t usually do, before coming back to meet with Jimin. He looks nice—dark olive pants, loose-fitting but slim cut, light brown sweater. It’s simple, but it’s clean. Looks good on him and—

—Jimin doesn’t know why he’s noticing any of this at all.

“Are you, uh, going out tonight?” Jimin asks before his brain could tell his mouth not to. He swallows, feels acid in his stomach.

Jimin sees Taehyung squint at him, uncertainty etched in his expression. Like he’s unsure how their conversation jumped to this. And honestly, Jimin isn’t sure either. He doesn’t know why he asked. His mouth is just going.

Taehyung blinks but doesn’t answer. At least, not right away. Jimin can see him visibly thinking.

So their voices overlap when Jimin attempts to clarify, “Like, to celebrate the sh—” at the same time Taehyung tries to say, “No, I don’t have any—”

They stop at the same time. Nervous-laugh at the same time. Jimin bites the inside of his lip, then gestures in Taehyung's direction, indicating for him to go first. But Taehyung shakes his head, mumbles, “You go.”

And now Jimin feels… exposed for some reason. Scratches at the back of his head a bit awkwardly as he says, “Just—you look like maybe you’re going out, I dunno. Just. Thought you had plans or something after this.”

“Um, I—” Taehyung starts. He cracks a knuckle and says, “Some friends invited me out, but… I dunno if I wanna go.”

Jimin spins his phone in his hand. Turns it and turns it and turns it, ignoring the way his heart is beating.

“Why not?”

“Just… not feeling it, I guess,” is Taehyung’s response. He shrugs off his answer.

For some reason, Jimin hears Hoseok’s voice in his head telling him not to be boring. Hears him criticizing that he’s all work and no play, never does anything fun, never lets himself relax or do anything even the slightest bit irresponsible.

And never in Jimin’s life has he cared what anyone thought of him. But he knows that’s his reputation—he knows people must think he’s dull outside of work. Never seen out by paparazzi, never in the media for a scandal, strict about his work.

Maybe it’s the buzz of the positive reviews coursing through his veins. Or the relief knowing they’ve overcome odds with their ex-lead dropping out mid-tour, leaving them high and dry. Or maybe, deep down, Jimin is finally tired of being predictable.

Because even he’s a bit knocked off his ass when he says, “Well, are you maybe… feeling up for a drink? I owe you, remember?”

The words roll off his tongue, smooth like butter, but his fingertips are tingling, and the air feels too thin in his lungs. He feels… nervous. Why the f*ck does he feel nervous? Probably because Taehyung is the last person he’d ever imagine himself offering this to.

Taehyung clears his throat, looks away. “A drink?” he asks. There’s a hook in his left eyebrow, raising it almost comically. He follows up with, “With you?”

Jimin huffs. Gets a little defensive now that he’s stuck his neck out. Says, “Not if you don’t want to. It’s not a big deal, I just… as a thank you, that’s all.”

Flashes of the two of them before the show play in the back of Jimin’s mind. Thank me with a drink or something after everyone out there gives your show a raving review by tomorrow, he hears Taehyung saying. And him stupidly, stupidly replying, deal.

Again, Taehyung’s quiet. Jimin remembers vividly not too long ago nearly begging for Taehyung to shut up. But now, his silence almost makes him want to pull his hair out.

Eventually—eventually—Taehyung slides himself off the stage and says, “Got anywhere in mind?”

No, Jimin doesn’t have anywhere in mind. Not really. This wasn’t even a complete thought in his head until a few seconds ago. But… there’s a bar near where he lives that he likes to go to—smallish, low-key. No one knows him there; that’s why he likes it. That place could work.

“Yeah,” Jimin says, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “I know somewhere we can go.”

Taehyung almost smiles. Nods hard enough for his hair to bounce and for Jimin to have the aborted thought that it’s kind of cute.

“Then… let’s go,” Taehyung agrees. Slowly, though, like he’s trying to make sense of all of this too. Jimin takes comfort in knowing Taehyung is just as caught off guard by this as he is.

So Jimin walks toward the exit, and Taehyung follows him, and Jimin’s mind screams at him over and over again that he has no idea what the f*ck he’s getting himself into.

But he knows one thing for sure—this night will be anything but boring.

Chapter 3: iii.

Chapter Text

Apricot is a pretty color on Taehyung’s skin.

That’s a subconscious observation of Jimin’s as his eyes are roaming around the bar. The atmosphere mimics exactly what the place is—a hole in the wall, found by chance. Wooden panels, maroon accents, dimmed peach-yellow lighting. Earthy, dewy. All of it together creates a sort of apricot-like hue to the room, which, in turn, looks pretty on Taehyung’s skin.

But it’s just a passing thought. There and then gone.

While Taehyung was more than content with sitting at the bar, Jimin insisted on something less overt. You know best. This is your spot, Taehyung had shrugged. So they’re slotted in the back, the last booth available, nearly hidden. Just how Jimin likes it. This bar is one of the few places he can frequent with his guard down. He’d like to keep it that way.

Champagne was the drink to start. Celebratory, light. They clinked their flutes and sipped their drinks, dodging eye contact. Jimin felt the fizz of the champagne sitting on the back of his tongue. Taehyung had his gaze locked on the mini television hung in the corner above Jimin’s head, too focused on it to be real. Jimin shifted in his seat.

Not that Jimin thinks he should soul search with every person he meets, but he hates small talk. That helpless fishing feeling, like he keeps throwing his line out hoping something interesting will catch.

But they don’t have anywhere else to start, so they do just that: start small. The bar’s vibe, the drinks, the show. And it’s—awkward, honestly, talking with Taehyung like this, stitching their conversation together one empty sentence at a time.

Truthfully, this is a foreign concept altogether for Jimin. He doesn’t socialize often, especially not with his employees. Barely bothers to get drinks with his colleagues or seniors in the industry. Only mingles when he has to; and even then, it’s networking. It’s business, professional. There’s a purpose to it or a personal gain of connecting with a designer or another fashion producer. It’s never for leisure. Jimin has no idea what the hell he's doing here.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone… anywhere, really, and there wasn’t someone in my face, asking for an autograph or a picture,” Taehyung smiles through his sentence, gestures around the room. “How did you even find this place?”

They’ve switched to their personal drinks of choice now. Jimin’s gone for his usual—vodka and club soda, while Taehyung nurses a flavored beer. Peach, Jimin thinks he heard him order.

“Hoseok found it, actually. He’s good at that—exploring, discovering.” Jimin traces the circumference of his glass with his index finger. Shrugs one shoulder and admits, “I don’t really go out much, so. Not my thing, I guess.”

Taehyung swallows hard on his sip, choking back a laugh. “I can tell.”

“f*ck off,” Jimin huffs. He feels the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m just saying,” Taehyung continues. He holds his hands up for a second, showing he means no harm. “You just seem very, I dunno, disciplined? The work-and-go-home type.”

Jimin furrows his eyebrows and asks in faux defense, “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Not if it’s what you want,” Taehyung concludes easily. But for some reason, his response stumps Jimin. He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything back. Not really sure what to say.

First and foremost, Jimin is a businessman. Focused and goal-oriented. So, Jimin can’t really remember the last time he did something solely because he wanted to. He does things because he should; because it’s safe, and because it’s responsible. He has a reputation to keep clean and a career to protect. Doing things solely because he wants sounds… reckless.

A beat too late, Jimin settles on, “Guess I just like keeping my name out of the headlines.” Squints his eyes a bit and adds, “Unlike some people.”

Perhaps his response is a little sharper than it needs to be. He’s sure Taehyung didn’t mean anything by it. It’s more of a personal insecurity if Jimin’s being honest with himself. This underlying fear that he’s wasted his twenties, lost out on interpersonal experiences or social maturation or romance.

That maybe he didn’t experiment enough, or relax enough, or learn about himself outside of work enough. That somehow, despite being one of the most successful fashion producers under thirty, and traveling all over the globe, and having his wildest dreams come true beyond imagination, he hasn’t lived enough. Jimin’s chest feels tight. He takes another sip of his drink and realizes it’s empty. Ice knocks against his teeth.

“You can have fun without the media circus,” Taehyung reasons. He takes another sip of his drink too, but his bottle is more than half-full. A droplet of beer sits on his bottom lip. Jimin stares at it until Taehyung licks it away.

Maybe it’s the drinks going to his head, but Jimin keeps finding himself focusing on the shapes Taehyung’s lips make when he speaks. Notices the way his tongue hugs the words that roll off of it, the path of his jawline, his—what the f*ck is happening?

“Yeah. Sure.” Jimin averts his eyes, looks nowhere.

It’s sort of an impossible statement to believe coming from Taehyung. His reputation precedes him in the worst way most of the time. His nights out and rumored flings have been smeared over all forms of media since he was shoved into the limelight.

“I mean—you found this place, haven’t you?” Taehyung states. “You can come here and have a drink or take someone out and no one even notices you, right? I know a few places like that.”

Ignoring the ‘take someone out’ of Taehyung’s question is intentional on Jimin’s part. Because his first instinct is to stress that that’s not what’s happening here. They’re celebrating a shared accomplishment, that’s all. This night is basically professional. Innocent.

Jimin’s shoulder blades dig into the thinly padded material behind him. Spins his glass just to have something to do with his hands and says, “Yeah, well, like I said, I don’t really go out much.”

He feels Taehyung’s eyes on him before he looks up to meet them. Feels the warmth on his forehead, on his cheek. When their gazes meet, Jimin’s heart beats a little off-rhythm, but maybe it’s the alcohol too.

“I’ll have to take you with me the next time I go out,” Taehyung muses. He takes another sip of his drink. There’s a smug, almost devilish smirk on his face.

Jimin chuckles, but it sounds forced even to him. Says, “Yeah, maybe,” and then flags the server down for another drink.

✢

By Jimin’s third drink, he’s noticed a few things. Useless tidbits of information, air-filled details, but they float around his brain almost tauntingly.

One, Taehyung doesn’t drink much. The drinks that he does choose are sweet, fruit-flavored, and light. Two, Taehyung surprisingly listens more than he talks. Jimin almost struggles to recognize the person in front of him as the Taehyung that is often the cause of his headaches and nausea. He’s a good listener, attentive; and oddly, Jimin finds himself venting a little. Words run like water from his mouth. Three, the rings on Taehyung’s fingers. Silver. Dainty. Pretty. Pretty, like the hands they adorn. Long, slender fingers. Baby pink nail beds; manicured, for sure, into shape. Pretty like—

—you’re staring, Jimin’s mind nearly screams at him.

Jimin blinks, snaps himself out of whatever the hell that was. Lifts his eyes and hopes whatever the f*ck he was doing wasn’t as noticeable as it felt.

“And,” Taehyung emphasizes through an awkward type of laugh. His tone playfully mimics one of a woman on a sitcom when the man is obnoxiously staring at her boobs and not her eyes. f*ck, he definitely noticed. He scratches at the back of his head and adds, “so that’s basically the main reason I like being in New York.”

Jimin was only half-listening, but he collects the fragmented sentences his alcohol-dipped, lust-drowned brain can remember and offers, “The freeness?”

Taehyung shrugs. Bites his bottom lip in a way that makes Jimin want to do it for him and says, “Anything can happen here. Even the things you’d least expect.”

Tonight, Jimin thinks, is the perfect example of that.

✢

(The fourth thing Jimin notices sinks in too late for him to have any chance of talking himself out of it: he and Taehyung are going to go home together.)

✢

Jimin doesn’t know what time it is when they arrive at his apartment door. Can’t quite piece together the string of events that even led to this. He’s not drunk, he holds his alcohol too well to be, but f*ck, there’s something about this night—something about Taehyung—that makes him feel more intoxicated than ever. Everything is spinning.

He doesn’t know much of anything right now. Not with his heart slamming in his ears and his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and his toes tingling the way they are. All he knows for sure is this: Taehyung smells good, and his smile is pretty, and it would be a goddamn shame if their night ended right now.

Don’t do this. Be smart. Just—say goodnight. There’s still a sensible part of Jimin’s brain working hard. Fighting tooth and nail to the forefront of his consciousness. Sets off every alarm it can. He works for you. He’s your employee. This is a mistake.

Those thoughts, despite being yelled through a megaphone, get ignored. Actually, they don’t even properly register because his brain is distracted by other things as he stands leaning against his door.

Like—there’s a stray spiral of hair that’s fallen into Taehyung’s eyes, the end of it caught in his long lashes. Jimin wants to sweep it away. Like—Taehyung’s mouth looks even more inviting in this lighting. A pretty shade of sugar coral. A gentle glistening to his lips as if he’s wearing the most subtle layer of gloss. Like—the urge to kiss him right now is almost painfully unbearable.

“Tonight was, um…” Taehyung begins to say. His hands are fumbling with nothing, not even his cellphone. He cracks his knuckles, then stuffs his hands in his pockets. Despite his words being the setup for a departure, he takes a step closer.

His eyes are dark. Sharp, steady. Like he’s daring Jimin to do something—anything.

“Yeah,” Jimin breathes. “I…” Maybe Jimin takes a step closer too. “…had fun,” he finishes his sentence like an afterthought. And it is. Because Jimin’s present thoughts are all about Taehyung.

It’s a blur.

Jimin doesn’t know who kisses who first. It doesn’t matter. Not really. Not when Jimin’s smashing blindly at his key code now, trying to open his door. Not when Taehyung’s tongue is in his mouth before the automatic lock pulls itself back and grants them access. Not when Jimin kicks the door shut and that same automatic lock secures them inside.

As Jimin’s pressing Taehyung against the wall of his foyer, he knows this is something he’s most likely going to regret in the morning. And not just that, probably days, weeks, months from now too.

But right now, he wants this. He wants Taehyung. And it’s been a really long time since Jimin’s done anything solely because he wanted to.

✢

It must be the pent-up anger, Jimin concludes rather calmly as he sucks Taehyung’s bottom lip into his mouth, that’s fueling this passion. Because Jimin swears he hasn’t inhaled a sufficient breath since they charged inside, stumbling like fools, smearing their lips together like horny teenagers.

Being up this high, Jimin never thought to buy curtains for the floor-to-ceiling windows in his living room. And maybe that was a little naïve of him, because binoculars and long-range cameras exist. But he’s never put much thought into it until now. (In his defense, his hookups usually happen in the less public spaces of his apartment.) Because as he’s pulling Taehyung’s sweater over his head—exposing soft skin and prodding collarbones and the beginnings of a happy trail—he has the passing thought that someone could be watching.

“Let’s—” Jimin starts. The rest of his sentence is stolen, kissed away. Taehyung’s lips are on his; a gentle but hasty tug-of-war. Taehyung pushes, Jimin pulls. When Jimin comes up for air, he finishes a bit disjointed, “t-the bedroom.”

“We’re fine here,” is what Taehyung quickly whispers back to him. “Lay back.”

He’s peppering kisses down Jimin’s midsection now, open-mouthed and messy. They’re both shirtless and shoeless, only a few thin layers of clothing separating them. Jimin tips his head back onto the couch, closes his eyes, and then exhales slowly.

A hot tongue swirls around Jimin’s nipple and sucks at the sensitive skin there. Teeth graze gently, catching the bud. Jimin’s abdominals tighten as he curls in on himself, a moan wrung out of him like the twisting of a towel. His hand tangles in Taehyung’s disarray of black curls, urging him lower.

It’s terrible, Jimin knows he should be having second thoughts. Should be sh*tting his pants right now that they’re literally in the middle of crossing a line they can’t uncross. He knows there should be an inner monologue about how this is gravely unprofessional, and unethical, and if anyone found out about this, his track record of a clean image is ruined. But instead—the only thing Jimin has whirling around in his brain is if Taehyung has any opposition to f*cking on the floor because Jimin thinks he’d look pretty all spread out on his ivory sheepskin rug.

“Eager, huh?” Jimin teases. Taehyung’s fumbling with his belt buckle, yanking at it, trying to get it to unfasten.

Even in the dark, Jimin can recognize the look Taehyung shoots at him. Daggers in his eyes shot through his bangs. Mutters, “Shut up,” and gives the leather another fruitless pull.

If Taehyung were anyone else, Jimin might’ve helped a little sooner. But there’s a callous part of him that enjoys watching him struggle. Even if it’s just for a little while. But at this moment, Jimin’s horny before he’s cold-blooded, so he sucks his teeth and completes the task for him.

“You’re pulling the wrong way,” Jimin says matter-of-factly because honestly, it isn’t rocket science.

To which Taehyung snarls a quick, “I’m left-handed, asshole,” before shutting himself up by mouthing at Jimin’s growing length through his briefs.

There's a counterargument somewhere on Jimin’s tongue. Something he means to say about how that’s bullsh*t because he’s seen Taehyung sign with his right hand. But whatever he was going to spit back gets choked-off in his throat the second Taehyung’s mouth comes in direct contact with his dick.

It’s involuntary the way Jimin’s ass lifts off the couch. A flinch, a full-body type of reaction, that makes him look like he’s never gotten his dick sucked before. Drawn-out moan and all.

“Eager, huh?” Jimin hears Taehyung say in the most annoying mimic. Truthfully, it’s less of a taunt with his mouth full of Jimin’s co*ck. But still, nonetheless, Jimin readjusts his grip on Taehyung’s hair and gives it a harsh tug.

And Taehyung—he likes it, of course, he does. Makes all the sense in the world to Jimin that this brat likes pain. Smiles in a way that’s both satisfied and devilish. And f*ck. f*ck Jimin likes that Taehyung likes it. It’s sexy, and Jimin can’t hide the way his dick twitches at the shadowed sight.

Broad shoulders push Jimin’s legs apart more as Taehyung settles on his knees. He’s holding the base of Jimin’s dick, stroking him slowly, looking at it like he’s a bit mesmerized. “Thick,” is all he says, sort of under his breath, a whisper, like a comment meant for himself and not Jimin. But Jimin soaks in it anyway, takes it as a compliment. His chest feels warm by just that passive donning of praise.

Jimin waits impatiently while Taehyung situates himself. Adjusts his position on his knees, gives Jimin’s dick a few more familiarizing strokes, licks his lips. Then, his eyes snap up and catch Jimin’s. Hooks him in like a fish on a line, helplessly caught. And the gaze is so intense, so strong, Jimin feels his mouth go dry and his brain restart.

“Try not to cum, okay?” is all Taehyung says, nonchalantly, before parting those pretty lips of his and taking Jimin into his mouth. And it’s then, in that exact moment, that Jimin knows he’s in trouble.

✢

“That’s it,” Jimin coaches through the humidity fogging his lungs. He breathes in fire, exhales smoke. “Keep your back arched.”

The dip of Taehyung’s spine is a valley. Deep and defined; it captures the moonlight and cradles it like water. His back is pretty, smooth skin adorned with pin-sized beauty marks like accenting splatters on his pristine canvas. Finishing touches. One on the back of his shoulder, one at the curve of his waist, one on his ass cheek that Jimin’s grown fond of. The faintest indents of dimples sit right above his ass. Jimin presses his fingers into them to keep Taehyung in place.

Jimin’s lips smear a kiss to Taehyung’s nape and he breathes in the coconut-scented something he must use in his hair. Strings together a trail of kisses from the back of his neck to his ear, then tongues at the sweet spot just at the curve of his jaw. The moan he’s rewarded with makes his stomach flip in excitement.

But Jimin’s just a kisser—naturally maybe a little too affectionate—because there’s actually nothing about this encounter that is tender or sweet.

There’s more spit than lube coating Jimin’s fingers as he scissors them hard and fast inside of Taehyung. Keeps his two fingers in a V-shape, spreading him open, and sinking into the firm give of Taehyung’s warm walls.

“f*ck. I—f*ck.” Taehyung is nothing but choked-off sentences and breathy moans. Stretched out in a cat’s pose, arms lengthened and flexed at the elbows, with his fingertips digging into the rug. He f*cks back on Jimin’s fingers like he can’t get enough. His head is tucked between his shoulders, chin surely smushed hard against his chest, forehead to the floor.

Jimin licks a stripe over Taehyung’s ass, settling between his cheeks. He brings a string of spit with him, letting it drip off the tip of his tongue and onto his fingers. And he means to pull away, but it’s impossible when Taehyung tastes so good. So he laps at his hole, shoving his tongue impatiently between his busy fingers, greedy for it all.

“Nuh-uh,” Jimin discourages when Taehyung’s hips begin to dip. It has to be straining to stay in this position, nearly a plank now that he’s pushed his legs back too, but Jimin doesn’t care. Pats twice at his side and tells him, “Lemme open you up. Need to get at least three, four fingers in you.”

“Need your dick in me,” Taehyung gripes from where his face is still buried in the sheepskin. He sounds—winded, a little broken.

Jimin would be lying if he said he didn’t like that. The weight of arousal between his legs suddenly feels like a ton. He gives his co*ck two pacifying tugs before replying, “When you’ve earned it, you’ll get it.”

And Taehyung begins to sputter back like he’s disgusted, “Earned—?” but he only gets that far before Jimin’s fingers snap back deep inside of him and it tapers off into a wounded, “Oh, f*ck, wow.”

Thing is, Jimin likes being in control. He tries to pin it as a necessary side effect of his profession, but if he’s honest, this specific urge would be a thorn in his side whether he was a fashion producer or a grade-school teacher. It’s just part of his personality.

So regardless of the situation, Jimin always gets the same satisfying feeling at his core when he gains a handle on something. And right now, watching Taehyung melt into the carpet, reduced to nothing but gasping whimpers and the rocking of his hips in time with Jimin’s fingers, he feels accomplished.

Like holding a tornado in the palm of his hand—taming chaos. Even if it’s just for a breath at a time. Jimin knows this specific moment of Taehyung with his guard nearly down, bordering on submission, is fleeting. So he captures it with his mind and stores it away somewhere safe.

“Ready for three?” Jimin’s canines graze the juncture of Taehyung’s neck, right where it meets his shoulder. He fights the nearly overwhelming craving to bite down, sink his teeth right in, because he knows this is a no-marks-allowed type of situation. He smacks Taehyung’s ass hard instead, releasing some of his pent-up frustration. Taehyung jolts, hisses. “Huh? Three?”

“Just—do it.” Taehyung breathes, impatient. “What’re you askin’ for?”

Jimin unfolds his index finger, lines it up. A beat later, he’s fitting it inside of Taehyung, squished right with his other two fingers, all the way in, in one thrust. And the sound Taehyung makes might just be the prettiest thing Jimin’s ever heard.

(But he’ll never tell him that, of course.)

✢

Jimin’s almost positive Taehyung opts to ride him as some sort of take-back of control. But Jimin wants nothing more than to see Taehyung bounce on his dick right now, so honestly, he still wins.

“Take your time.”

Taehyung’s legs are shaking, still recovering. He’s on his knees, straddling Jimin who has his shoulder blades to the couch, hoisted up just enough for Jimin’s co*ckhead to nudge against his hole. Jimin bites his lip as he ghosts a hand over Taehyung’s side, contemplating helping him.

But Taehyung’s stubborn; Jimin knows this. Wouldn’t accept help even if it was offered. He mutters, “‘m fine,” and attempts to lower himself down on Jimin’s co*ck. It catches at the rim first, his hole too slick and Jimin’s dick too thick to slip right in. He murmurs something under his breath, grabs Jimin at the base, a firm and steady hold, and tries again.

It’s a lot for Jimin, he can’t imagine what it’s like for Taehyung. Feels vividly the breach of Taehyung’s slicked-up rim, then the weak ring of resistance that’s pushed open all at once by pure determination. And then Jimin just feels the heat. Heat, heat, heat as Taehyung’s walls envelop him like a tidal wave. They both moan, bodies going stiff momentarily.

“Oh…” Taehyung throws his head back, grapples behind him for—something, anything to keep upright. He finds Jimin’s knees, sweaty palms cupping around the knobs. He inhales shakily, breathes out, “Oh, holy sh*t.”

“Take your time,” Jimin repeats. He means it sincerely now. “Just—breathe, okay? I won’t move.” He knows he’s roughly average in length but notably thick. It’s his girth that past partners typically get held up on. Stretching wide enough to fit him is a lot, Jimin understands that. He’s had partners that couldn’t take him at all. At least, not comfortably.

Jimin’s used to starting off slow and trained himself to do so. Never all in one go like he does when he’s prepping with his fingers. Taehyung didn’t give himself that courtesy. And now Jimin’s watching the shadowy sight of Taehyung’s stomach expand and concave in sharp breaths, trying to settle.

“Taehyung-ah,” Jimin murmurs, plump lips to Taehyung’s neck. He tastes salty sweat on his skin. “You can go slower.”

“‘m fine.”

“It’s alright if you—”

“‘m fine.”

He lifts his hips, sliding up on Jimin’s dick until only the head is snug inside, then sinks back down. Tiny grunts escape Taehyung’s lips as he acquaints himself with the specific mold of Jimin’s shape inside of him. Every once in a while, he tosses his head back, bottom lip gripped between his teeth. It’s a pretty sight—the thick column of Taehyung’s neck, the perfect sculpt of his jawline, the angled jut of his collarbones. Everything about him is so pretty, Jimin’s head is spinning, still trying to grasp that this is even happening.

It doesn’t take long for Taehyung to orient himself. Settles into an upbeat rhythm that makes both of them fight to catch their breaths. Jimin runs a hand down Taehyung’s torso, tracing the faintest outlines of muscle and bone beneath his taut skin, soft and smooth to the touch.

“All the way down,” Jimin instructs, barely opening his mouth to speak. Taehyung’s cute with his eyebrows furrowed, pupils a little dilated even in the moonlight. He does as he’s told, takes Jimin all the way to his base. Jimin’s breath gets caught in his chest. “f*ck, it’s—you’re so tight.” His hand cups around Taehyung’s hip, helping him keep pace. But no more than a second later, Taehyung slaps it away.

Taehyung f*cks just like he works—headstrong, alone, and a bit pigheaded. Wants to do everything himself. He’s riding Jimin like he has something to prove. Repositions himself to both hands on Jimin’s shoulders for leverage, and f*cks himself hard on Jimin’s co*ck. He’s going to get rug burns on his knees.

He doesn’t want Jimin’s hands on his hips for stability and doesn't want Jimin to f*ck upward to meet him halfway. Just wants Jimin to… sit there and take it. And Jimin isn’t used to this, not sure how he feels about it.

“Let me do it,” Taehyung whispers in Jimin’s ear. He’s panting in sharp breaths, those manicured fingernails digging into Jimin’s shoulders. He’s got a rhythm going that makes Jimin see stars. It feels too good, his eyes are rolling back just a little whenever Taehyung circles his hips.

Jimin learned this early: it’s easier to let Taehyung do things his own way than to fight him. And when it comes to his projects, his shows, Jimin will fight him. But when it comes to this, well—

—Jimin doesn’t have it in him to fight him. Not on this.

Not when Taehyung feels this breathtaking inside, not when he looks this gorgeous riding him, not when Jimin has to keep biting his lip so he doesn’t say something silly like maybe he’s been waiting for this since the first day they met. Or if Taehyung proposed that he’d want to do this again tomorrow night, he’d say yes too quickly.

So, if Taehyung wants control, he can have it. At least, for tonight. Maybe it’s safer that way.

✢

It’s the cool breeze of his air conditioning sweeping over his bare thigh that wakes Jimin up. He’s shivering; only a throw pillow from the couch under his head and the softness of the rug under his body. He’s alone, but that’s exactly what he expected. The alternative would’ve been awkward, weird.

Everything aches—his hip, his shoulder, his neck, his head. Jimin runs a hand through his hair and massages at his scalp, a groan escaping him in the process. He closes his eyes again, squeezes them shut tight, and exhales. God, he feels like sh*t.

Jimin remembers waking up in similar situations to this back when he was in college and having close to zero recollection of how he got there. He’d wake up somewhere, more than half-naked usually, with fuzzy images in his head of the night before. And similar to right now, he’d scrape himself off of the floor and attempt to put himself back together.

But Jimin isn’t a dumb kid in college anymore, and this wasn’t a random one-off hookup with a stranger, and he remembers exactly what happened. He’s waking up on his living room floor, at twenty-nine years old, with a mind so calm and clear it’s almost terrifying.

You slept with one of your models. You’re a scumbag, he thinks to himself. His phone buzzes somewhere behind him, a muffled but distinct sound. He sighs. And you’re late for work.

It’s easy to ignore the pain shooting through his skull as he sits up, blood rushing from his head fast enough to make him lightheaded. He props himself up against the couch, scratches absentmindedly at the dried cum on his stomach, and unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

His phone buzzes again. Rings and rings and rings, and then goes silent. Another failed attempt. Hoseok, he’s sure of it. Jimin forces himself to his feet but stumbles because his legs are asleep. Tingling sensations crawl up and down his thighs; pins and needles in his heels and Achilles tendons.

But Jimin doesn’t dwell on it. He shakes his legs out and drags himself to the bathroom, ignoring his phone ringing again. Figures he better scrub Taehyung off of him before he does anything else.

✢

“Jesus, there you are. What the f*ck?” Hoseok has a tight grip around Jimin’s bicep, urging him along like a disobedient dog. Jimin stumbles, unsteady on his feet, and bumps shoulders with models who are equally in a hurry. He feels out of place. Hoseok gives his arm another tug. “Where have you—did you forget? I emailed you last night. They're already here.”

Jimin has no idea who Hoseok is referring to and he hates that. Hates this feeling: playing catch-up, being out of the loop. He’s the boss and everyone else knows what they’re doing except for him. But it’s his own fault, so he clears his throat and asks, “Emailed? I, uh, must’ve missed it. My phone was acting weird last night so I turned it off. Who—they? Who’s here?”

A hand presses Jimin’s shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks. Hoseok squints, a strand of his black hair falling between his analyzing eyes. He takes in a breath, lets it out slowly. “Are you hungover?”

“No.”

“You’re acting hungover.”

Jimin shrugs. “Well, I’m not, so.”

Hoseok’s giving him a look. A tight-lipped, furrowed brow look. One that lets Jimin know he sees right through whatever the hell is happening here. Hoseok leans in, close and in Jimin’s personal space, and asks in a whisper, “What the hell happened last night?”

And truthfully, Jimin’s a pretty good liar, but he’s sh*t at it when it comes to Hoseok. Can’t look him in the eye when he does it. Jimin begins walking away.

“Nothing,” he says once his back is turned. “My phone was glitching—probably because I get so many emails—so I turned it off. I missed my alarm this morning. That’s it.”

Jimin stops in front of the hair and makeup room. Hoseok places himself right in Jimin’s line of vision, arms crossed.

There’s no way in hell Hoseok believes him. Not with the way he’s dragging his tongue over his teeth, blinking slowly at Jimin the way he is. But he lets it go anyway. At least, for right now.

“Whatever,” Hoseok mumbles. He waves his hand in front of his face like he’s clearing his brain the way he would a whiteboard. Very pointedly, back in assistant mode, Hoseok tells him, “You and Taehyung have an interview in twenty minutes. Taehyung was here on time, unlike some people, so he’s almost done with hair and makeup. Jenna is waiting for you.”

And god, Jimin must be back in college because the only thing he manages to mutter like an idiot is, “Me and—?”

“I picked out your outfit for you,” Hoseok continues. He’s talking over Jimin, tunnel vision now. “I know you hate that, but you weren’t here and we needed a final decision. It’s nothing crazy; maroon pants, white button-up.” He lets out a breath, gives Jimin a once-over, and asks, “You good?”

The door swings open and a stagehand walks out with a pile of colorful clothes draped over his arm. He’s talking into his headset, tells someone on the other end that he’ll be there soon, and goes jogging down the hall.

Jimin peers in as the door is shutting and sees the back of Taehyung’s head. He’s sitting in front of a mirror, vanity lights making his skin glow in a way that even dull, natural light seems to, with his eyes closed as the makeup artist brushes shadow over his lid. Jimin only sees him for a second, maybe even half a second, but his heart still does something funny. Skips a beat or two, or maybe does a somersault in his chest. The nerves of seeing what should’ve been a one-night stand again, Jimin reasons. This was so stupid. They’re so stupid.

Hoseok snaps his fingers in front of Jimin’s eyes. Loud, fast clicks that make Jimin blink and then flinch away.

“Dude.”

“I’m fine,” Jimin all but gasps, settling back into reality.

And if Hoseok wasn’t convinced before, he’s completely ready to call Jimin on his bullsh*t right now. So Jimin overcompensates. Counts off on his fingers, “Interview’s in twenty, the outfit is maroon and white, hair and make-up is ready for me and has been ready for me.” This time, it’s Jimin who squints. “Because I was late. I got it.”

Hoseok’s face softens, shoulders relaxing. “Asshole,” he giggles. And his smile is as bright as always, as pretty as always. It’s contagious, Jimin smiles too. Hoseok hooks his arm around Jimin’s neck, pulling him into a hug. Says, “Good. Go,” and gives him a soft shove toward the door.

Jimin hesitates just for a second, hand wrapped loosely around the knob. He closes his eyes, composes himself, and walks in.

Taehyung sees him, and Jimin sees him too, but they don’t speak. That, too, is expected.

✢

Somehow, being in-between shows can feel like even more of a circus than the night of a show. Even when Jimin is on time (which is always, by the way), the items on his agenda are so jam-packed and melt into each other that it’s all a blur.

He’s in the door at the crack of dawn and immediately problem-solving or in a meeting or being escorted to a makeup artist who only has a limited amount of time to get him camera-ready. Then, he’s off to another part of the building to approve new clothing shipments, then on the phone with designers bargaining for a feature in his show, then he’s playing counselor for his models who just can’t seem to get along. It’s endless.

Jimin has gotten used to the chaos, the rush. He’s grown accustomed to his elevated heart rate and that twitch his pinky does when he’s overwhelmed. So he pretends it’s just the stress of keeping a schedule whenever the hairs on the back of his neck stand up near Taehyung. Tells himself it’s just the anticipation of their upcoming show whenever his heart slams weirdly in his chest.

Taehyung was escorted out of the hair and makeup room no more than a minute after Jimin entered. Their interaction was no more than a fleeting glance through mirrors and peripherals. But less than half an hour later, the two of them are in side-by-side chairs, elbows nearly touching, fake-laughing at lame jokes told by the overeager interviewer.

There’s electricity buzzing at the tips of his arm hair, like a bad reaction to being this close to Taehyung so soon. Jimin kneads the back of his hand, trying to focus on finishing the interview as smoothly as possible.

“—so we have to know,” the interviewer leans mid-interview, her dyed platinum hair dangling over her lap. She lowers her voice like she’s sharing a secret. “Any new romances while here in New York?”

It’s the American way, always focused on personal lives and scandals. Professional insight and accomplishments come second to relationship status and favorite foods. And usually, these questions don’t bother Jimin because he never has anything to hide. Even if he were involved with someone, he felt secure enough that questions like this rolled off his back. But today, Jimin presses a little too hard on a tendon between his fingers, a knee-jerk reaction, and flinches in his seat.

Naturally, the interviewer looks at him, eyebrows raised in anticipation of a juicy, gossipy answer. And god, if she only knew the things Jimin could tell her. Wonders if she thinks f*cking someone into the carpet is considered romantic. Taehyung’s moans would, in fact, pair well with a stringed symphony and candlelight, now that Jimin thinks of it.

Jimin replies professionally after a beat of silence, “I’m in New York for work, not for romance.”

She smiles, but it’s as fake as her hair color. She leans back in her chair, disappointed. Flicking her eyes to Jimin’s right, she prompts, “Taehyung?”

Jimin knows he shouldn’t be worried. Taehyung wouldn’t just blurt out what happened last night to some stranger looking to make a profit off twisting their comments into an eye-grabbing headline. Knows Taehyung’s more likely to tell her to f*ck off, right on camera, to her face, than he is anything else. But still. Still, Jimin squirms a bit in his seat, bordering on terrified. There goes his heart again, nearly beating out of his chest.

Eventually, Taehyung speaks. He leans back in his chair, tips his head to the side. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

And although he didn’t technically say anything, that’s bait if Jimin’s ever heard one. The interviewer nearly squeals before trying to fish for more details. But after forty-five seconds of desperate digging, Taehyung cuts her off with, “—but as Jimin said, we’re here to work. Everything else is irrelevant.”

Just hearing his name on Taehyung’s tongue makes Jimin’s spine stiffen. He knows he’s keeping his cool on the outside; participating in the interview appropriately, not broadcasting himself as one half of a one-night stand. But still, he somehow feels exposed.

The interview is over five torturous minutes later. Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever excused himself from a set so quickly. He expects an article out tomorrow about his unfriendliness behind the scenes.

✢

It catches Jimin’s ear from across the room. A conversation that doesn’t involve him, and until this specific second, he managed to tune out.

“Bro—holy sh*t.”

Jeongguk’s voice has a way of carrying. Or, maybe, Jimin’s ears just have a way of snooping.

He and Taehyung are talking. Loudly.

“What is this, high school?”

“Shut up.”

An assistant is talking to Jimin. They’ve got an assortment of fabric in their hands, explaining to him they’re sample colors for Jimin to pick from. There’s a photoshoot scheduled in a few days. For Taehyung, ironically. But most of the decisions, including the set’s color scheme, are Jimin’s call.

Blue would compliment Taehyung’s skin tone.

“They f*ckin’ marked you.”

“Shut up.”

Jimin’s eyes shoot across the room and his blood goes ice cold in his veins. In the mirror, he watches Taehyung pet his neck with a makeup-removing cloth. Once he moves his hand away, a very distinct discoloration on his neck catches Jimin’s attention. Reddened and circular, mouth-shaped. Jimin -shaped. Not huge, but noticeable nonetheless.

And Jimin doesn’t remember doing that. In fact, he remembers thinking to himself that last night was very clearly a ‘no marks allowed’ situation. But he does remember sucking on Taehyung’s neck a little while he was riding him. He didn’t think he did it hard enough to—-

“Who?” Jeongguk asks. Then, after a very obvious sweep of his eyes around the room, in a softer voice, “Who—someone here?”

The assistant is urging Jimin along now, leading him to the stage. They approach Taehyung and Jeongguk’s direction from behind them. And the assistant is focused, still giving Jimin excess information about his color choices. But the closer Jimin gets to Taehyung, the harder it is to hear anyone or anything but him.

As Jimin’s walking by, he hears Taehyung giggle and tease, “Didn’t you hear? I don’t kiss and tell.”

He and Taehyung make eye contact through the mirror. It’s only for a second, but it feels like lifetimes to Jimin. But a heartbeat later, Jimin’s out the door and on his way to the stage while Taehyung stays to wipe the concealer off of his neck for everyone to see.

✢

According to Taehyung, he has things to do, so he leaves with Yoongi just after the day wraps up. Jimin is partly relieved that they’re avoiding the awkwardness of being alone together, but he worries that weariness and uncertainty will only fester the longer they go without speaking. They’re coworkers, partners on this project. At the very least, they need to be able to work together.

Red wine isn’t Jimin’s favorite, but he’s on his second glass. He’s sitting at his dining room table, spinning his phone with his index finger, staring off at nothing. He tries to admire New York’s skyline, it’s beautiful, but his mind keeps veering off elsewhere.

Within the last hour, Jimin’s written out the beginnings of text messages to Taehyung, but he deleted each one before he caved and pressed send. There’s nothing to talk about and everything to talk about. The inside of Jimin’s brain is a tennis match, going back and forth to those polar opposites.

Can we talk about—? and Last night was stupid, right? We— and Just checking. You didn’t tell anyone we— and I swear to god if I see my name in any article I’ll f*ckin ki— all live and die by Jimin’s thumbs. He never sends any of them. Just bites his tongue and swallows the impulse. The only thing worse than under-reacting is overreacting.

A headache is making itself a home behind his temples. Boiling like water over an open flame for too long. Stress. Jimin’s eyes travel to the microwave on his left. He blinks sluggishly. 8:15 PM.

Jimin tips his head back, downs the rest of the wine, then drags his feet toward his bedroom. When he was younger, he made a habit of sleeping off his nerves. Whether it was the night before a big test, or a first date, or a show. It might’ve been all in his head, but he remembers it working.

So he kicks his door shut and crawls into his bed. Maybe he can sleep this off too.

✢

Avoiding someone only lasts for so long, especially when there’s a shared workplace. Although he and Taehyung kept to themselves for nearly a day and a half, they’re both required on set for Taehyung’s photoshoot. It’s a promotional shoot for the upcoming show, a spotlight feature on Taehyung in Vogue, and collaboration with Louis Vuitton all in one. So it’s sort of a big deal.

And while Jimin’s all about taking the reins when it comes to his show, he does still value creative control. Because yes, this is for Jimin’s production, but Taehyung is still the featured model. The focus is on him. There’s going to be pages and pages of an interview with him, and Jimin respects that. So he asked Hoseok to ask Taehyung to think of a concept—a concept that fits Jimin’s pre-picked color scheme, that is.

Jimin wasn’t sure what he expected when he walked on set for the first time, but he’s a bit taken aback by the setup. A night sky for a backdrop, varying swirls of blue, with paper-looking clouds. There’s black detailing in the clouds and they’re hanging over the stage by thick ropes. Toward the center of the stage is a ladder that doesn’t lead to anywhere in particular, just up, and that too is constructed with thick rope and wood.

The set is cut in half. The other side depicts a beautiful carousel. This side is grander. Giant white horses held up by white pipes. The center of the carousel is golden, with yellow and peach lights that turn off and on in a pattern. It’s pretty. Reminds Jimin of his youth.

Taehyung is chatting with the photographer when Jimin and Hoseok arrive. And similar to the set, Taehyung’s outfit takes Jimin a bit by surprise as well. He’s in blue, pinstripe overalls, white sneakers, and a black suit jacket. There’s a white corsage on Taehyung’s left lapel, and he’s wearing an assortment of bracelets that look personal. A dainty pearl earring, also on his left, is the finishing touch.

Needless to say, Taehyung looks gorgeous. It sort of makes Jimin angry.

“So, uh,” Hoseok smiles. He gestures sort of with his chin, sort of with his hand, around the set. “What’s the concept?”

“The inner child,” the photographer answers before Taehyung can even open his mouth. He looks at Taehyung, looks at Jimin, looks back at Taehyung, then settles on Hoseok. Adds, “It’s brilliant. No one would expect this. Especially from him.”

The photographer’s name escapes Jimin at the moment. He remembers skimming over it in the email, but can’t recall it now. Ronald, maybe. Or Roland. If Jimin had to guess, he’d say Ronald-Roland is a few years older than Hoseok. A five o’clock shadow that he wears well, dark green eyes paired with black, curly hair. Perfect teeth and a nice tan to his skin. He’s attractive. Could spend some time in front of the camera rather than behind it. This industry is truly littered with beautiful people.

Together, the four of them walk toward the setup. Ronald-Roland, Hoseok, and Jimin nearly shoulder to shoulder, Taehyung trails behind them a few paces. But somehow, after some small talk that Jimin tunes out, Hoseok has detached himself from the trio, intrigued by the stage, which leaves Jimin with the photographer.

So Jimin’s civil. Asks, “Have you worked on anything like this before?”

“Absolutely,” Ronald-Roland answers. He shrugs a shoulder and adds, “I’ve done exclusive work with some big names. Like, sh*t that’s helped them shoot to the top. But, y’know, I don’t like to brag. It’s whatever.”

What a douchebag of an answer.

“I meant like… a concept similar to this before,” Jimin clarifies. He keeps his eyes angled away, voice clearly uninterested. Jimin finds a lightbulb on the carousel and stares at it.

“Oh. Yeah, no, I guess not.” He fumbles with the lens of his camera. Sniffs and adds, “Not really.”

Of course, you haven’t, Jimin snickers in his head. But aloud, his response is only a hum. He detaches himself from Ronald-Roland and approaches Hoseok. Bumps his shoulder and mumbles under his breath with a subtle gesture behind them, “He’s a bit of a dick, huh?”

“Our charming photographer?” Hoseok giggles. “Aren’t they all?”

Jimin smiles in agreement just as Ronald-Roland is calling Taehyung over, urging them to start. He takes his place and adjusts a setting on his camera. Says a bit impatiently, “I’m only booked until seven, remember?”

That’s one of Jimin’s least favorite things about this industry. Everyone is in a hurry, and your time is less valuable than everyone else’s. Although Jimin isn’t seeking to do so, it’s incredibly hard to make genuine connections with anyone, or even form solid partnerships, because of this. Everything moves so quickly; one slow blink and everything’s changed.

Taehyung’s legs are long, pretty, as they take the steps to the stage. His steps echo off of the walls of the empty space around them. He’s smoothing out the sleeves of his suit jacket uninterestedly as he responds, under his breath but intentionally loud enough for everyone to hear, “Dinner with the president at eight, right?”

Admittedly, Jimin likes it a whole lot less when it’s aimed at him, but he admires Taehyung’s no-bullsh*t stance. Similar to everyone being in a hurry, everyone also seems to have an attitude. Snide comments whispered under breaths and behind backs. And Jimin knows in some ways he’s no better than anyone else—he just muttered something to Hoseok about the photographer—but sometimes it’s nearly impossible not to feel small when this is the temperature of every interaction. Jimin wonders if Taehyung ever feels small.

Ronald-Roland rolls his eyes. Says a bit exasperatedly, “Are you ready?”

Jimin and Hoseok have seats with their names on the back to watch the photoshoot, so they take their places quietly. They’re off to the side, bathed in the dark shadows, and tucked out of the way. Jimin feels like a fly on the wall watching Taehyung on stage.

“Always ready,” Taehyung says. And maybe that statement is for people who are a little too full of themselves, high off their own smoke. But in this case, it’s just… the truth. Because no more than a minute later, the lighting is adjusted, Ronald-Roland is crouching to get the perfect angles, and Taehyung is doing what he does best.

One thing that Jimin could never deny is that Taehyung was made to be in front of the camera.

✢

Luckily for Ronald-Roland, the photoshoot is all wrapped up by six-thirty. Jimin has to admit, watching Taehyung work is like watching art being painted. Of course, Jimin’s seen plenty of magazine covers and billboards with Taehyung on them, and so he’s always known what talent he has for modeling. But watching him from just a few feet away, witnessing how effortlessly he works the camera, was an experience. When it comes to his craft, Jimin’s learned Taehyung is not only extremely professional but also efficient. Powered through what felt like millions of poses on both sets before Ronald-Roland had no choice but to call it.

The bodies on set dispersed slowly, trickled down one by one until Jimin and Taehyung were the only two left. At first, they were on opposite sides of the set—Jimin still lingering by his and Hoseok’s chairs, Taehyung flipping through the pictures he just took on the computer screen. But eventually, after Jimin said goodbye to Hoseok, and thanked the assistants who aided the photoshoot, Jimin was only a few steps away from Taehyung.

And it’s stupid the way his heart sits in his throat. Because they’re adults, so there’s no reason for him to be nervous. But still, as he takes in the back of Taehyung, still hunched over the monitors, flipping slowly through the pictures, Jimin finds himself almost rehearsing what he might say.

“That one’s, uh—pretty.”

The screen freezes on the picture of Taehyung. He’s sitting on the floor, suit jacket shed and draping off his shoulders, eyes directly on the camera. Jimin remembers feeling a flash of something shooting down his spine when it was taken. Taehyung’s great at flirting, especially with the camera, and this shot is a bit on the seductive side. With his shoulders bare and his chin squared, and his eyes so dark and enticing.

Taehyung's still dressed like that. He left the suit jacket draped over one of the horses in the carousel, leaving Jimin’s eyes to wander slowly over his exposed skin. He looks over his shoulder, eyebrows a bit furrowed. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

Honestly, Jimin probably shouldn’t be. He doesn’t really have a reason to. But something inside of him wouldn’t let him leave without talking with Taehyung, even if he had no idea what he intended to say.

Jimin chooses to ignore Taehyung’s comment and tries for one of his own. He takes a step closer, but not too close, and gestures toward the screen with his chin. Says, “This is going to be a great piece. All of your pictures are great.”

The profile of Taehyung’s face is illuminated by the screen. One half of his face lighted, the other half blanketed in darkness. Highlights to the slope of his nose, the curves of his lips, the length of his eyelashes. And Jimin finds himself in awe, once again, of Taehyung’s natural beauty. Even when he’s not trying, he just is. In this line of work, Jimin’s surrounded by uniquely stunning people, but no one has struck him quite as hard as Taehyung does. It goes deeper than just physical beauty, and that’s what twists Jimin’s insides because he doesn’t know Taehyung. Not really. But maybe he wants to.

“Do you get the final say?” Taehyung asks, pointing with his thumb toward the screen. “Of which pictures go into the magazine.”

Typically, yes. This isn’t Jimin’s first photoshoot with one of his models featuring to help promote one of his shows. It’s a collaboration in many ways, but Jimin is still, at the end of it all, in charge of what stays and what goes. But Jimin also knows Taehyung is passionate about his work, very hands-on from beginning to end. So he says, bending his own rules, “We can pick them together if you want.”

Taehyung presses the spacebar on the keyboard, changes the picture. Jimin cuts his eye, sees it’s another shot similar to the one before. Taehyung is still without his suit jacket, leaning forward toward the camera, collarbones calling for attention. Not the best for Jimin when he’s still blinking away flashbacks from the other night. It’s almost annoying how hard it is for Jimin to shake this.

“Together,” Taehyung parrots a few seconds later. Jimin can’t read his tone, not sure what he means by it if he means anything at all. Doesn’t help that he doesn’t follow it up with anything. He stays quiet, eyes glued to the screen, tapping the spacebar to flip through his pictures. And what really doesn’t help is that Jimin is constantly fighting off the urge to just grab Taehyung by his pretty shoulders, and kiss his pretty lips, and tell him to lose the goddamn attitude.

And maybe it’s because Jimin’s coming off of one of those thoughts, but he says before he has half the mind to change it, “Can do it at my place if you want. I’ll have Captain Jackass send me the prints. We can pick the best ones and I’ll have Hoseok submit them to Vogue.”

As soon as it leaves Jimin’s mouth—we can do it at my place—he wants to smack himself. Another private meet-up is the last thing he should be suggesting. Even with professional intentions. Because if their last time alone is any prediction for the future, it’ll become very unprofessional very quickly.

Taehyung just giggles though. A cute sound that makes Jimin smile almost reactively. Doesn’t seem particularly affected by Jimin’s suggestion and just says, “He was a jerk, wasn’t he? Then, in a mimicking voice, “I’m only booked ‘till seven.”

And maybe this is what Jimin was after. Regaining some level of comfortability with each other, the ease. Because that’s what he remembers most of the night before: how easy it was for them to interact once they stopped trying so hard to hate each other. Taehyung may not be Jimin’s favorite person in the world, but he doesn’t want to hate him. He wants to be able to talk with him and it’s not weird or tension-filled.

Leaning his hip against the table, Taehyung says, “You know, he invited me to a party tonight.”

Jimin lifts an eyebrow suspiciously. “You wanna party with Captain Jackass?”

“No,” Taehyung scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “But that’s apparently why he couldn’t stay long. Was rushing off to some D-list party upstate.”

The mood is light and Jimin wants to keep it that way. He huffs and says, “Right, because you only party with A-listers, huh?”

Taehyung is no stranger to the tabloids. Jimin’s seen his face or read his name on all types of headlines long before he showed up on his set. Drunken nights out, dating rumors, contract speculations, all of it. And since Taehyung’s been in the limelight, his name has been paired with some of the most well-known celebrities.

This time, Taehyung just rolls his eyes. “I party with people who know how to keep their mouths shut and their phones off.”

It’s a statement that doesn’t hold much weight, in Jimin’s opinion. Because he’s never actively followed Taehyung’s career, but he remembers seeing him on websites and television often enough. Everything he does seems to be a public appearance, whether that was his intention or not. Jimin finds it hard to believe that Taehyung can go anywhere without an army of cameras following. But, in his defense, they did just spend an entire night alone without one paparazzi, so maybe it’s possible.

Intrigued enough, Jimin co*cks an eyebrow and says, “Yeah? And where’s that?”

“In New York?” Taehyung says. Whispers, actually, because somehow they’re close enough to do so. Jimin doesn’t remember their bodies shifting toward each other, gravitating closer, but they’re nothing more than a slight outreach of an arm away. And up this close, Jimin can count the moles on Taehyung’s face and become more familiar with the bend of his lips. Jimin watches his mouth as he talks. “There are only a few here. Underground. But it’s nice to unwind, relax, without feeling like a zoo animal. Just good music and people who couldn’t care less how many magazines have sold with my face on it. It’s nice.”

“Thought you couldn’t remember the last time you went out in peace,” Jimin says. Not arguing, just remembering. Taehyung was a bit in awe at the bar Jimin took him to. So it seems a bit misaligned for him to have these places he can seek refuge in, but still be struck by Jimin’s little hideout.

Taehyung shrugs. “I can’t. Haven’t been in the city in a while. Spent a lot of time in a lot of places with people who are leeches. It’s been a while since I’ve been out without anyone noticing.”

Except for the other night, Jimin wants to say. It’s on the tip of his tongue. But maybe it’s one of those things—something they both know about but don’t talk about. At least, not in public. Not at work where anyone could be listening. And f*ck, Jimin hates himself for how sexy he finds that. He swallows hard, feeling his Adam’s apple working.

“Right,” Jimin says. “Maybe you could, uh—show me one day.” And he’s staring so hard at Taehyung’s lips, it should be embarrassing, especially because he knows Taehyung sees it. He’s starting to realize that maybe avoiding each other was for the better. Because if this is what’s going to happen from now on, they’re both in trouble.

The corner of Taehyung’s mouth tugs upward. “My hiding places?” he says. “Dunno if you’ve earned that yet.”

His voice is so smooth, deep and velvety and warm, just like the inside of his mouth. Jimin digs his nails into the palm of his hand, trying to keep his thoughts straight. But it’s hard, especially when all of Jimin’s thoughts consist of now is kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.

“Why not?” Jimin counters. “I’ve shown you mine.”

He can feel Taehyung’s breath on his lips when they speak now. And if he were thinking straight, he’d recognize that they’re in a position that’s tough to explain away innocently to anyone who might spot them. What would he say? Checking for lashes in each other’s eyes? Having an intense staring match?

When Taehyung smiles again, Jimin has to physically stop himself from tipping his head forward and kissing him. Has to stiffen his neck muscles and hold his breath, willing himself to stay in place. It’s a hard battle, and he’s actively losing.

“True,” Taehyung agrees with a cute shrug of one of his bare shoulders. “I guess I owe you, huh?”

Jimin’s eyes trail downward, and he has a flash of a thought. Imagines sinking his teeth into the exposed flesh. Kissing down Taehyung’s neck and to his shoulder, lips melting into his soft, heated skin. Slipping the strap down his arm, licking where they’ve left indents in his flesh. Making his way to his collar bones, the center of his chest, downward—

“One day,” Jimin responds rather coherently, despite slicing his way through thick vines of thought. They’re both quiet for a moment, slow seconds passing between them. Moments filled with the two of them staring at each other, nearly begging the other to make a move. To give a reason for them to pounce. Jimin thinks his hands are shaking.

Taehyung’s outfit has been the bane of Jimin’s existence all evening. He keeps getting lost in it. He swears it’s the contrast of it all—the innocence of the piece, paired with the raw sexiness that is Taehyung himself. It’s form-fitting, pinching in at the small of his waist and his thighs. And with the oversized suit jacket gone, Jimin’s been fighting urges to lay Taehyung down on the table they’re leaning on.

Maybe Jimin’s brain is functioning purely on autopilot when he says, reaching his hand out just enough to brush over the fabric covering Taehyung’s stomach, “This is nice on you.”

And f*ck. f*ck, it’s as if that was a hammer tapping against the most fragile piece of glass. Whatever they’ve been trying to hold together has shattered; tiny, sharp pieces scattering all around their feet. Just like the other night, the dam has been broken.

More silence. But only just for a second. Jimin sees something happening behind Taehyung’s eyes. A calculation of some sort. Risk versus gain, maybe. But it’s a quick resolution before he leans in, right into Jimin’s personal space, lips against his ear.

He whispers, deep voice vibrating against Jimin’s eardrum, “So come take it off me,” then pulls back and catches Jimin’s gaze for a second. There’s a dare written in Taehyung’s eyes now. Like they’re playing cat and mouse. Come and get me.

When Taehyung walks backstage, Jimin follows.

✢

The corners of Jimin’s vision are fuzzy, blurry. He frequents New York often enough for work, so much so that he’s bought property here, but at this moment, he feels like a tourist, a bit disoriented. His shoulders bump random strangers who seem to have more balance and sense of direction than him; his knees feel weak. He’s trying to tame a dark smile, which isn’t hard behind the black mask on his face. He tugs open the back door of his car, slips inside, the gentle hum of the car greeting him.

It’s not late, maybe closer to seven p.m. than eight, Jimin’s not exactly sure. One of the earliest nights he’s left work in a while, though. Hoseok would be proud. Tells him he works too much.

“Where to, sir?”

The night is young and Jimin feels a new sense of invigoration. Perhaps it's the lingering satisfaction of committing a filthy act. Fulfillment he knows he shouldn’t have, but does anyway. Maybe that’s the excitement of it. The spike in adrenaline from getting away with something that’s wrong, with doing something you know you shouldn’t.

“Sir?”

“Uh,” Jimin thinks aloud, trying to reel his thoughts back in. When he speaks, he smells Taehyung on his breath, caged in by the mask. Jimin blinks, and sees a flashback of the two of them in his office no more than ten minutes ago. Sees himself between Taehyung’s legs, Taehyung sprawled out on his desk, kissing his inner thighs. Hears, just for a moment, the echo of Taehyung moaning.

Again, his driver speaks. The car is still stalled on the side of the road. He clears his throat almost apprehensively. “I’m sorry, sir. Um—where to?”

Jimin closes his eyes, basking in the memory for a little longer. He sighs again, smells Taehyung again, and settles on, “Home.”

✢

More often than not, life in the industry is a tornado. Jimin wakes up and his head is spinning, and it doesn’t stop spinning until seconds before he goes to bed. Then he wakes up and it happens all over again. That’s the way it’s been for too long now. And in many ways, Jimin’s gotten used to it. He’s grown almost fond of the madness, fallen in love with the stress.

Jimin’s schedule is packed from eyes open to eyes shut for days. He barely remembers getting through practice, doing interviews, managing photoshoots for select models, taking conference calls, finalizing deals with new designers, implementing blooming ideas into the shows to follow. It’s all just… one big tidal wave.

But there’s been something that’s made these past few days a little interesting. Every once in a while, Jimin’s gaze will catch Taehyung’s from across the room, and everything slows down for a moment. It’s just a second, but Jimin feels the pull of the Earth slowing. Nothing more than a blink or two shared, but it’s a fleeting moment, quiet and secretive, and makes the tips of Jimin’s fingers tingle.

“f*ckin’—hello?”

Hoseok hasn’t been very fond of Jimin’s behavior lately, it’s written all over his face. That disgruntled look he gets, like a disappointed parent. Jimin always finds it a bit funny. Currently, Hoseok’s eyebrows are angled inward at him, like little devil horns, and his mouth pressed into a straight line. “Did you hear anything I said?”

“Trying not to,” Jimin scoffs. “Your idea is gonna send us over budget.”

To be honest, Jimin was only half-listening. He and Hoseok are sitting in the folding chairs in front of the stage. In front of them, the models are practicing their walk. Two straight lines, perfect spacing apart, balancing two books on their head like they’re in the academy all over again. It’s good to get back to basics every once in a while. Jimin’s attention keeps getting snagged, though. Eyes lingering a little too long on one model in particular.

Hoseok audibly sucks his teeth. “Then you weren’t listening. Dior is offering their new line, we don’t have to make a deal with them. The deal is them being featured. All they want is…”

God, Jimin isn’t doing it on purpose, but Hoseok’s voice fades from his consciousness again. There’s an assistant running the practice, and it seems like they’ve called a break. The models are hunched over, rubbing the back of their necks. Jimin gives them a lot of credit, it’s hard work to make what they do look easy. They sweat in practice so that it’s a breeze on stage. Some evenings are harder than others. They’ve got their second show this Sunday, only three days away, so the extra pain is worth it.

Jeongguk crosses the stage and approaches Taehyung, puts his arm around him. Since he’s joined the team, Taehyung hasn’t made many friends. Jimin imagines most of them are silently hoping he doesn’t sign on to do the next leg of the tour. His first impression has, understandably, stuck with many of the models. They’re civil with him, but not friendly.

But with Jeongguk, it seems like they’ve made a connection. Jimin only sees them interact in passing moments during practice, but he’s admittedly pondered their relationship a time or two. Mostly, he just wonders how much Taehyung has told him. Especially after catching a snippet of their conversation in the dressing room after their first night together. Jeongguk definitely knows Taehyung went home with someone, but Jimin’s terrified to ask Taehyung if he ever disclosed who.

“I swear to god, I’m gonna smack you.”

Hoseok again. At the end of his rope. Jimin blinks, comes back down to Earth, pulls his eyes away from Taehyung.

“Hyung,” Jimin breathes.

“What’s going on with you?” Hoseok asks. “I’ve never seen you this spaced out. Are you sick?”

Jimin smiles. “No.”

“Is it the pressure of the show?”

“No,” Jimin says again, but Hoseok continues anyway.

“I mean, you got great reviews last time, and it’s been going smoothly, all things considered, for our next show. Even Taehyung’s been—”

“Hyung, I said no.”

Jimin's voice isn’t mean, but there’s a strong period implied at the end of his sentence. One that nearly begs Hoseok to stop guessing. Because Jimin’s terrible at keeping secrets from him, and he knows he’ll stumble upon it sooner than later.

This time, Hoseok is quiet. He blinks at Jimin. The silence is almost more torturing than the interrogation.

It’s a shame how quickly Jimin gives in. He groans and says, “Just—I’ll tell you later, okay? Later.”

The satisfaction on Hoseok’s face nearly makes Jimin sick.

✢

Feeling generous, especially with the second show happening tomorrow night, Jimin gives everyone the night off. No practice. They finalized everything yesterday, and it’s as set as it’s going to get. Jimin’s learning to live with imperfection.

He’s sitting on his balcony, overlooking the city with a half glass of white wine in his hand and his phone in the other. Boring stuff, scrolling through work emails, trying to make heads or tails out of what everyone’s talking about. Jimin tips his head away to take another sip of his drink when his phone buzzes. It’s late, so the text is unexpected, Jimin almost drops his phone.

Today, 11:21 PM

From: Kim Taehyung
wanna disappear with me?

Jimin doesn’t understand, not at first. It’s a bit cryptic at first read. So he reads it again, feeling each pump of his heart in his chest. Wanna disappear with me? Is this where they are now, texting each other at nearly midnight? Jimin can’t pretend he’s opposed to it. He takes another sip of his drink and writes back.

Today, 11:23 PM

To: Kim Taehyung
depends
where?

By the time Jimin sets his glass down, careful with placing it down on the table beside him, his phone vibrates again with a new message.

Today, 11:24 PM

From: Kim Taehyung
my hiding place

There’s something happening inside of Jimin, a butterfly-like sensation tickling the lining of his stomach. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he catches his reflection in his phone’s dimming screen. And it’s a dopey smile, one that Hoseok would make fun of him for.

Jimin’s mind replays their conversation from a few days ago after Taehyung’s photoshoot.

My hiding places? Dunno if you’ve earned that yet.

Why not? I’ve shown you mine.

True. I guess I owe you, huh?

Jimin can’t help but wonder, exactly when between then and now, did he earn it? Was it only minutes later when Taehyung led him backstage and into his office? When he was so overeager to get Taehyung out of the overalls that he nearly ripped them? Or was it no more than a day later when he and Taehyung cut their after practice meeting short and Taehyung got on his knees for him in the bathroom? Was it then? When Jimin f*cked deep into his mouth, lodged his co*ckhead somewhere near the back of his tongue, and shot hot white down his throat? Or was it all of the lingering glances, the secret touches they’ve shared since then?

Maybe Taehyung simply felt Jimin’s longing from all the way across town. Weak, in the shower just a few hours ago, with the scalding hot water dripping down his body. Jimin pressed his back against the steamed-up checkered tiles and pleasured himself to the thought of Taehyung’s lips, his ass, and how tight he is around him. Took an embarrassingly short amount of time to climax, but maybe that’s just the effect they have on each other—the reason they keep coming back. Because if tonight is any indication of it, it seems Taehyung can’t stay away either.

Today, 11:26 PM

To: Kim Taehyung
i’m intrigued…

Taehyung’s response is quick.

Today, 11:26 PM

From: Kim Taehyung
good
i’m outside

And Jimin—well, he doesn’t quite know what he expected the outcome of this to be, but he’s positive it wasn’t this. At least, not so sudden. He feels his air catch in his throat, burning as it pushes its way back down his esophagus. He swallows around nothing, then bites his bottom lip.

Jimin’s first thought, like a knee-jerk reaction, is that this is dangerous. It’s stupid, actually. They have a show tomorrow, the last thing they need is for their names to be in the tabloids. But then Jimin takes a breath. Then another one. Reminds himself that Taehyung trusted him enough to go to the bar with him. So maybe this is his turn to reciprocate the gesture.

His phone buzzes again.

Today, 11:29 PM

From: Kim Taehyung
coming?

No thinking.

Jimin stands up, grabs his glass.

No thinking.

He steps inside, closes, and locks his balcony door.

No thinking.

Leaves the glass on his kitchen table, heads into his bedroom to grab his jacket.

No thinking, no thinking, no—

Today, 11:31 PM

To: Kim Taehyung
coming

✢

A black truck parked across the street flashes its lights at Jimin when he cautiously steps out of his apartment building. He’s dressed in a long, dark coat. Black baseball cap, hood up. He’s got on a mask and sunglasses despite the moon being the brightest light out. He’s sure he looks a little ridiculous, but Jimin has no way of knowing for sure that Taehyung is the only person outside waiting for him. And it takes him a second of reassurance and courage to even cross the busy street and approach the car.

It smells like raspberries inside, and the heated leather welcomes Jimin in. Taehyung’s in the driver’s seat dressed much less mysterious. Actually, his clothing choice for the evening is rather bright. Jimin has noticed that Taehyung likes bold colors.

Tonight is no different. Light khaki pants, a bit more form-fitting than he’s used to seeing Taehyung in. At least, that’s how the slacks appear when he sits. Admittedly, one of the things Jimin first noticed was the way they stretched around his thighs. He’s paired them with a pearl-white undershirt and a button-up he’s left open. Maroons and oranges and blues decorate his shirt in an abstract pattern. He too has a mask, but it’s tucked down under his chin.

“Are you a spy?” Taehyung jokes when he notices Jimin’s all-black outfit and sunglasses.

Jimin tugs off the shades, shoves them in his coat pocket. “Shut up.”

A gentle hand grips Jimin’s chin before he has come to fully comprehend it, pulls him in. The kiss to Jimin’s lips is more of a peck, almost innocent like its purpose is to ease his nerves.

“Relax,” Taehyung tells him. He puts the car in drive, checks his mirrors, then joins traffic. “No one knows us where we’re going. And if they do, they don’t care.”

The mystery of that leaves Jimin more excited than nervous, so he takes that as a good sign.

✢

For the most part, Jimin would say he knows his local section of the city like the back of his hand. Despite that, Jimin has no idea where Taehyung’s taken him. But he guesses the point of a hiding place is for it to be a place less frequented. The drive was short enough, but the city is full of twists and turns, Jimin didn’t properly keep up.

Not while he was also trying to fully take in the situation. Because sitting in Taehyung’s car at midnight going somewhere only he knows isn’t at all how Jimin expected his night to go. But the stars are pretty and Taehyung’s radio is playing soft jazz and Jimin feels almost eerily content.

“We have to go around back,” Taehyung instructs when they arrive. And honestly, Jimin couldn’t even tell they arrived anywhere. It looks like a brick building that fits in with all of the other brick buildings. Graffiti on the side, a chain-link fence, an open lot.

Jimin pauses when Taehyung opens his door.

“It’s okay,” Taehyung tells him, a chuckle lacing his words. “I know it looks a little sketchy but that’s the point. No one knows it's here. Just—” There’s a gentle pull on Jimin’s sleeve. “Trust me for a second.”

Trusting Taehyung definitely makes the long list of things Jimin never thought he’d do. But each time he does it, no matter how big or small the situation, Jimin finds it almost too easy. He opens his door, steps outside into the cool night air, and follows Taehyung across the street.

When they approach the building, stepping over murky puddles and dodging litter forgotten on the alleyway’s asphalt, Jimin hears the faint rumble of music. Their shadows trail behind them, elongated by the singular streetlight, dressed in a faded yellow.

A man in all black with a toothpick hanging out of his mouth is manning a brown door tucked between the two buildings. The interaction between him and Taehyung is brief, quiet. They shake hands, but there’s a wad of money that gets passed from Taehyung’s to his. And maybe that’s all it takes, because he steps aside, opening the door as he does so, and nods in their direction.

“C‘mon.”

Taehyung pulls Jimin along by his wrist. But that gets uncomfortable quickly, especially with the sudden wall of people and music they hit, so he takes Taehyung’s hand properly instead to keep up. Shuffles sideways through drunken bodies dancing on each other, alcohol and weed clouding the air.

It’s a club, Jimin deduces probably much later than he should. Because they’re crossing the dance floor now—hardwood instead of carpet—and that’s when it dawns on him. Probably should’ve been obvious with the neon lights and the bar across the way he’s finally noticing, but he gets his grip on his surroundings nonetheless.

Off of the dance floor, there are sofas scattered every which way. All an assortment of colors—ruby, rust, black, sky blue. There’s a small coffee table stationed in front of each of them, typically with a bucket of ice and a bottle of alcohol in the middle. Cups, both glass and plastic, clutter most surfaces. It’s hard to see anything clearly with the haze of smoke, but maybe that’s the point. Everyone here is just… a body.

“D’you want a drink?” Taehyung offers once they’re in the heart of the club. Jimin doesn’t hear him, not really. Not with the music blasting so loud it’s vibrating his feet. But he reads Taehyung’s lips when the lights flash over his face.

Regardless, Taehyung’s leading them to the bar. He escorts them to the front like he owns the place. The bartender is a young woman with long hair that covers most of her facial features. Taehyung presumably orders his drink then looks back over his shoulder at Jimin. “—and you?”

“Whiskey sour,” Jimin answers, mind still spinning a little.

Taehyung makes a face at him; a cute scrunch of his nose, then turns back to the bartender.

Maybe it’s the atmosphere, everything being so unfamiliar, that Jimin finds himself clinging to Taehyung. That’s not typically Jimin’s personality, he’s not used to not being in charge. But even with just Taehyung’s back turned to receive the drinks, Jimin holds on to the back of his shirt, keeping him close.

“Your drink, grandpa,” Taehyung yells over the music, offering the glass over. He’s smiling big, leaning in toward Jimin so he can hear him. So close, Jimin’s first thought is maybe he’s leaning in for a kiss.

Jimin squints, confused. “Grandpa?”

“Whiskey sour,” Taehyung says with another scrunch of his nose. It’s only then that Jimin looks down at Taehyung’s drink—something bright and fruity looking and refreshing—in comparison to his. He guesses the difference is apparent, but he rolls his eyes at the implication that it has anything to do with their age difference.

Taking a sip of his drink, Jimin exaggerates a satisfied taste and says with a shrug, “It’s good. You should try it.”

And there it is again. Jimin can see it even in the dimmed lighting, that calculating-like look in Taehyung’s eyes. He contemplates something for only half a second before he leans in again, this time to kiss Jimin. It’s more tongue than anything, and he sucks Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“Tastes gross,” Taehyung says, smiling. He licks his lips and adds, “But you taste good, hyung.”

Hyung.

Jimin is in the middle of a club, somewhere underground, with purple and neon blue lights flashing, surrounded by happy, drunken bodies. And he’s here with the last person he’d ever foresee himself being with. Nothing about tonight makes sense, but it feels right.

Kissing Taehyung again also feels right. So that’s exactly what Jimin does.

✢

Jimin has no sense of time when everything is smoke-filled and bass-shaken.

They’ve been here for a while, he knows this because he’s had about three drinks, but he couldn’t pin down a time to save his life. Checking his phone doesn’t even cross his mind; it feels like it’d take him out of the moment, remind him that there’s a real world out there still.

Just like their first night out, Taehyung slow-sipped his drink. Not the biggest fan of alcohol it seems. But he loosens up noticeably as the night crawls on.

They danced for a while, platonically at first, and Jimin’s age showed again for a while. They jumped up and down to some electronic-sounding song that Jimin was unfamiliar with, but Taehyung was smiling the whole time, and so Jimin was too. But gradually, the music slowed, and the two gravitated toward each other. Soon, they were pressed together, Jimin’s chest to Taehyung’s back, a guiding hand on Taehyung’s hip, moving to the beat together.

With so many people surrounding them, Jimin felt happily lost. Because even though he usually wouldn’t be caught dead out in public with anyone like this, being here somehow feels safe. No one’s even looked at either of them for more than a second since they got here.

Jimin’s hand travels upward on Taehyung’s thigh, toward his hip as they dance together. Taehyung’s taller, but his body fits perfectly with Jimin like this. His ass resting right where Jimin wants it, pushing back against him when Jimin pushes forward. And while they move, Jimin’s at the perfect angle to kiss at the back of Taehyung’s neck. He closes his eyes and just feels—the heat of Taehyung’s body against his, the weight of Taehyung in his arms, the sensation between his legs that’s starting to feel too good whenever Taehyung rocks into him.

“G’na make me hard,” Jimin whispers shamelessly into Taehyung’s ear, sucking on the lobe for a moment.

Taehyung circles his hips again and Jimin’s dick twitches helplessly in his pants. And Jimin’s a bit out of mind tonight, he isn’t sure if he can convince himself it’s not a good idea to f*ck Taehyung right here on the dance floor.

“Mm,” Taehyung hums. He tips his head to the side, inviting Jimin in. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

The song changes, so the beat does too, but they’re in their own world now. They keep their rhythm, and Jimin’s eyes keep fluttering back.

“In front of all these people?” Jimin questions. And on this particular push forward, Jimin’s sure to slot his growing co*ck between Taehyung’s asscheeks. It’s a dull sensation compared to the real thing, too many layers of clothing separating them, but he makes his point. Taehyung makes a sound that’s close to a moan, and Jimin drinks it up, tipping his head back by the neck and kissing him silent.

Taehyung turns then, and Jimin almost whines at the sudden lack of friction and pressure. But Taehyung’s back in a second, wrapping his arms around Jimin’s shoulders so he can whisper in his ear. Says, “So let’s go somewhere a little more private.”

✢

The sofa Jimin’s sitting on is the softest thing he’s ever felt in his entire life. But maybe he’s just a little dazed—buzzed off of everything that’s happened tonight. It all feels wonderful. Plus, there’s enough smoke in the air to get an astronaut in full gear second-hand high.

“What’re you smoking?”

Taehyung brings the light from his lips, breathes out. Jimin watches the ring of smoke dissipate above him, joining its family in the air. Taehyung smiles when he looks at him, a relaxed gaze in his dark eyes.

“It’s just weed, officer,” he jokes, taking another hit. “Want?” He holds it out in Jimin’s direction.

God, Jimin hasn’t smoked since college. First-year, maybe. Was never too big on it, not when a cold soju did the trick just fine to ease his mind, but he remembers how weightless it used to make him feel.

Giggling, Jimin says, “sh*t, I haven’t smoked in…” his voice trails off, exaggerating the silence for Taehyung’s amusem*nt, pretending to count on and on and on, “…years.”

“But you have smoked before?” Taehyung asks, shifting in the space beside Jimin. The sofa is small, they’re nearly leg over leg, but Jimin doesn’t mind the close proximity. Actually, he’s been struggling lately to keep his hands to himself.

“Yeah—”

“So let me help.”

Taehyung lifts a leg up and over Jimin’s lap, sits himself down there. Naturally, Jimin’s hands go to Taehyung’s waist. And honestly, Jimin could stay like this until sunrise, admiring the view that is Taehyung mounted on him, but soon, Taehyung’s leaning down.

A kiss first that doesn’t last nearly as long as Jimin wants it to. Then, Taehyung’s whispering to him over the music, “Breathe in when I breathe out, okay?”

It’s a quick, simple instruction. Jimin nods, falling deep under whichever spell Taehyung’s put him under. He gives Taehyung’s hips another grip, pulls him forward impatiently, and hisses low in his throat at the pressure his dick receives. Jimin swears they’ve been teasing each other for hours, he doesn’t know how much more he can take.

When Taehyung returns, he’s just as close as he was before, but he’s pursing Jimin’s lips out, preparing him to receive. He lifts his eyebrows at Jimin, asking, ready?, and Jimin nods at him, telling him, yes.

The smoke in Jimin’s face all but overwhelms all of his senses, but he breathes in like he’s told. Sucks in the smoke that Taehyung breathes out, ignoring the burning in his lungs. Chokes back a cough when it’s over, and focuses instead on Taehyung’s tongue in his mouth as he kisses him.

“You’re pretty f*ckin’ sexy, you know that?” Taehyung tells him, words whispered right into his ear again. Jimin’s gonna miss this when it’s gone—Taehyung being this close, the feeling of his body on top of Jimin’s, the vibration to his voice when it’s said right into his ear.

Jimin’s hands spider down Taehyung’s midsection. He feels down his ribs, over the soft, taut skin of his stomach, and then down by his sides. He finds the ends of Taehyung’s button-up and twists it into a knot, tightening at the dip of his waist. If Taehyung wasn’t sporting a shirt underneath, it’d sit on his midsection like a crop top. Jimin groans, admiring his body.

He kisses Taehyung because he’s addicted now and can’t resist. Mutters, “Says you. You’re—stunning.”

Taehyung’s thank you is somewhere in his forty-fourth or forty-fifth kiss. Jimin loses count, happily loses his mind along with it. His brain is turning off, letting his body do what it wants, and it feels lovely.

“Again?” Taehyung asks, gesturing to the blunt in his hand. Jimin nods.

And so they do it again, Jimin breathing in the smoke Taehyung breathes out, and they seal it with a kiss.

✢

“Wanna go upstairs? I have a room.” Taehyung’s tongue is dancing circles on Jimin’s neck. Wet, warm twirls of the muscle. It runs gently over a tendon in Jimin’s neck, exciting the nerves there, and Jimin jumps. He squeezes Taehyung’s ass, grinds up against him to relieve some of the pressure building again in his groin.

There’s so much smoke, Jimin couldn’t see anyone else besides Taehyung if he tried. At least, not from here. There are smoke machines on either side of every sofa, giving the illusion of privacy. Feels like he and Taehyung are the only ones here even though Jimin knows that’s not true. He hears the chatter of the other partygoers over the music.

Jimin looks around habitually. Tries to be cautious about this, careful. Tonight has been amazing, and maybe it’s just starting, but Jimin has a hard time letting his guard down.

He has too much to risk.

“Are you sure no one’s here that would tell?” Jimin asks between kisses.

If they were, and if they could see them through the smoke, the world would already know about the two of them by now. But Jimin’s protective thoughts are coming delayed, trying to check every box before letting himself submerge back into all of this.

“What we do is nobody else’s goddamn business,” Taehyung tells him, lips still only centimeters from his own, curved upward at the corners just slightly. There's a dark grin on his face that Jimin wants to kiss off.

Jimin breathes in, tasting the smoke lingering on his tongue. It makes his head swirl but in a good way. He just feels relaxed. Jimin smiles back, running a hand down Taehyung’s spine and settling it just above his ass. Taehyung adds, “Not the press, not the people at work, not anyone here. Just you and me.”

Taehyung stands then, and immediately, Jimin misses his warmth on his lap. Still slouched on the dark purple sofa, Jimin looks up at Taehyung. His eyes take in his slender body, draped in clothing slightly too big for him. But his button-up is still knotted in the front from where Jimin tied it, accentuating his waist.

“Now,” Taehyung starts again. He holds a hand out for Jimin to take, wiggling his fingers cutely. “Will you come upstairs with me?”

The palm of Taehyung’s hand is soft, warm, and a bit sweaty when Jimin leans forward to lace their fingers together. He lets Taehyung help him to his feet, then leads the way through the packed club.

Not a single person turns their head to watch them as they head up to Taehyung’s room. They’re just two normal people leaving a party early to be alone. No cameras, no microphones shoved in their faces.

Being invisible for the night feels pretty f*cking great.

Chapter 4: iv.

Chapter Text

Jimin wakes up slowly, calmly, to a pillow that doesn’t belong to him pressed against his cheek and lips he’s grown familiar with trailing down his spine. He stares at the wall across the room, its beige color with generic pictures adorning the open space and an old dresser pressed against it. He blinks. Waking up in a room that’s not his, in a bed that’s not his, with a boy that’s not his should be disorienting at the least, off-putting at the most, but it’s not. The bed creaks just as it did last night when Jimin first became acquainted with its aged springs, and the hand with long, slender fingers that are now gripping his hip is grounding and familiar.

He’s woken up in a room he shouldn’t be in, and he doesn’t feel guilt, anxiety, or shame. Instead, as those lips are kissing the small of his back, telling him he hums in his sleep, he thinks to himself that this is the type of morning he’d happily get used to.

They’re in what would be best described as a motel room, Jimin reasons now that the bed he’s lying on isn’t just a soft surface for him and Taehyung to tear each other apart. He vaguely remembers stumbling through a living room area and noting a small bathroom before drowning in the sheets on the king-size bed. But the room feels special, different because it’s made for people like him—people like them—who need a place to feel human without a camera shoved in their faces. Taehyung was right; this place is meant for hiding.

“How’d you sleep?” Jimin asks. His words are pushed out drowsily. It’s more of a formality than a genuine question. Especially with Taehyung kneading hot kisses, slow and tempting, into the dip of his waist, the curve of his hip. A tongue licks a stripe on Jimin’s sensitive skin, and he flinches, holding his breath.

Eventually, Taehyung sacrifices a kiss to Jimin’s slow-buzzing skin to reply, “Not as good as you. Got bored of watching you dream.” A playful bite to Jimin’s left asscheek is followed by a massage where the skin now harbors a wet indent of teeth. Jimin’s eyes flutter closed. “I had to wake you up.”

The truth is that Jimin lost count of how many org*sms were divided between them last night. They’re nearly insatiable when they’re together, a type of hunger he’s only read about and pondered. Lust in its purest form, maybe. Jimin feels himself growing addicted to the way his body fits with Taehyung’s, the precise heat of his mouth, the octave of his moans, the weight of his fingers.

Jimin’s hum is his response. He doesn’t know what to say. The windows have dark curtains, so the sunlight only enters their room in knife cuts. Time feels nothing more than an illusion when they’re together, and he isn’t sure if he should be apprehensive about how easily he gives in to that feeling. It’s dangerous, and he knows that but can’t bring himself to fight it.

Subconsciously, Jimin shifts his weight on his stomach. With an arm tucked under the pillow for support to his head, Jimin leans a bit on his left hip bone, settling. He breathes in deeply and smells last night on the linens: pleasure and sweat.

“You hungry?” Jimin asks. He is unsure of the time, but they can eat. Order in if the place allows, or find somewhere else no one knows and have brunch.

Taehyung’s mouth is captivating. Soft, warm lips and a tongue that’s sharp and sinful, full of tricks that remind Jimin of their age difference. Youthful talents that make Jimin’s knees shake and his eyes greet the back of his skull. A wet trail of kisses scatters with a quiet eagerness down Jimin’s back, to the dimples that dip at either side of his spine’s base, to his ass. That sharp, sinful tongue teases, and Jimin trembles.

“Very hungry.”

And if what followed didn’t feel so good, Jimin would’ve swatted at Taehyung for his juvenile play on words. Jimin should’ve seen it coming if he had been honest with himself.

Taehyung consumes him like he’s starving.

Overstimulation carries from the night before—which, in actuality, was only a few hours prior—and Jimin’s body tenses at the sensation of Taehyung’s wet muscle on his sensitive skin. Feels his shoulder blades pinch and his toes curl, and his brow furrow. Every nerve in his body is lightning-struck for a moment, acclimating to the rhythmic lapping.

Taehyung’s quiet and persistent, willing Jimin to relax each time his tongue traces over his entrance, his saliva ensuring smooth contact. Jimin melts into the bed that isn’t his, under the boy that isn’t his, and makes peace with the fact that he’s addicted to this feeling. This rush of adrenaline, this spike in pleasure. He grips the pillow wedged under his chin and moans loud, shameless, as the tongue begins to enter him in stuttered jabs.

Those pretty, long fingers Jimin has familiarized himself with begin to tease. They gently pull him apart as Taehyung invites himself deeper, and then they accompany the youthful, talented tongue inside of him. Jimin’s walls give in humbly, relaxing as the rest of his body does, taking Taehyung by the hand and inviting him in, in, in.

By three fingers, Jimin’s drawn stars behind his eyelids and has surrendered to the fact that he can’t take in a deep breath. He gasps into the pillow that still smells like last night and tells Taehyung that feels amazing, baby, f*ck, oh my god.

“Hyung,” Taehyung calls for him, his words echoing in Jimin’s skull. The first proper thought he’s had in a while. His brain has shut down, turned off momentarily, but now it’s groaning to restart. Taehyung’s fingers are pushing into Jimin in long, deep strokes that make it impossible for Jimin to open his eyes. Taehyung says, “Can I…?”

His words trail off, but his request is apparent. Especially now that he’s moved upward on Jimin’s body, lips sucking at his ear desperately, and a heavy, distinct pressure rubbing itself between Jimin’s asscheeks, awaiting a formal invitation.

Too eager, Taehyung kisses Jimin's nape and asks again in one breath, “Can I…?” It’s accompanied by another push of his hips, damp skin on damp skin. Jimin feels Taehyung’s body tremble and wonders if he could get off like this—on the anticipation of entering him for the first time, choked by his eagerness and lack of self-restraint.

But Jimin’s feeling generous. Or maybe he's feeling selfish and just a little bit vulnerable. Jimin does a lot of things he typically doesn’t do with Taehyung. Somehow, with him, it never feels like a sacrifice. Instead, it feels like a nice push out of his comfort zone just to realize that it’s equally as comfortable.

So Jimin’s hand smacks around on the giant bed, sifting through disheveled sheets, and locates the lube bottle. It’s nearly gone—just enough for one more round.

Jimin hands it over.

“You don’t have to go slow.”

An invitation.

✢

A professor back when Jimin was an undergrad, in a psychology course he wishes he paid more attention to, told the class that sex isn’t the most intimate way to be with a person. And at eighteen, with a body full of raging hormones, Jimin begged to differ. Because when two people have sex, they’re naked and unfiltered—it’s a raw, primal act. They’re relying on the other person to deliver pleasure, trusting them with not hurting them. And while all of that is true, in his adulthood, Jimin realized that his professor was right. Sex barely scratches the surface of just how intimate two people can get. It’s the tip of the iceberg.

Jimin’s reminded of this as he and Taehyung sit on opposite ends of the king-sized bed, a small buffet of food between them. Neither of them is speaking; they don’t know what to say. Any topic that crosses Jimin’s mind feels too little or too much.

Kicking a small lump of sticky rice to the corner of the takeout container with his chopsticks, Jimin asks, “How’d you even find this place?” Then, “I haven’t felt this secluded in a long while. It’s nice.”

It’s small talk, and Jimin hates it, but it’s better than nothing. Awkward silence makes Jimin’s skin crawl. And in the quiet, he tends to overthink.

“Someone I used to know brought me here. I liked it, so I kept coming back.”

There’s a hint of sadness in his tone that Jimin doesn’t need a trained ear to catch. Maybe Taehyung put in no effort to hide it. A shadowy response. Someone he used to know. But Jimin doesn’t pry. Instead, he makes a gentle joke about thanking them for the tip. Taehyung smiles, but it’s just a curve of his lips and nothing more.

Somewhere between all of the nothingness, they stumble onto the topic of fame. More specifically, the burden of it. It’s hindrances, it’s lack of privacy, it’s stress. Jimin finds himself going off on a tangent. Annoyed and frustrated, he recalls the extra precautions he needs to take just to walk down the street or make a small purchase. Sucks his rice into his mouth and grumbles about how paparazzi are the scum of the Earth, making a profit off of other people’s personal lives.

And then Taehyung asks him something he’s never been asked before: “If you could be something else, change your career, would you?”

A half-chewed piece of seaweed sits on Jimin’s tongue as he blinks. “Um,” he says emptily, thinking. He swallows, a bit stunned. And like a defensive, knee-jerk reaction, Jimin replies, “No, this is my dream.”

Taehyung looks at him from across the big bed that doesn’t belong to either of them, that holds their lust and impulse in the twists of the sheets and swallows. Doesn’t speak, but he’s looking at Jimin in a way that makes him want to explain himself. So he does.

He tells Taehyung about how he dreamt of producing fashion shows, how he interned with producers who treated him like their lapdog, and how he worked until he was so fatigued he could barely stand. He tells Taehyung how he sacrificed his twenties to make headway in the industry, to get where he is now. He wouldn’t have done any of that if this wasn’t what he wanted. “Sometimes dreams come at a price,” Jimin reasons, and it sounds sorry. “The price for people like us is privacy, freedom.”

Taehyung seems impressed, or even—and maybe Jimin just doesn’t know him well enough to read his expressions—a bit envious. At least maybe of Jimin’s confidence that he’s where he’s meant to be.

“What?” Jimin chuckles. But it’s a dry, forced type of laugh. He gestures to Taehyung from across the bed and says, “You’re gonna tell me that being the biggest name in the industry right now isn’t what you always wanted?”

“God, no.”

The response is so quick it almost cuts Jimin’s throat. He leans back, retreating a bit. The bed creaks again, like an involuntary response to intimacy, but this, for sure, is a different kind. Taehyung’s quiet, but Jimin can see by the way he’s moving his jaw that he has more to say. So he remains quiet, too, giving him time.

Eventually, Taehyung adds, “This life is empty. I can barely remember the last time I was treated like a person, not an object. No one really listens to what a model has to say. Because we aren’t supposed to say anything. We’re supposed to just—” Taehyung sucks his teeth, shakes his head like he’s disgusted, “—stand there and look pretty. Be sexy but air-headed. I mean, I know I’m technically new to the entire industry, but I’ve been modeling since I was a kid. Nothing’s different. Just nowadays it’s names that are well-known and powerful that expect sex as a trade for a business offer, a contract renewal, or an invitation to a premiere. It’s disgusting.”

It’s a little pathetic, Jimin can admit, that his reactionary thought is a nauseating worry that Taehyung will categorize him as one of them. But he swallows that thought and doesn't let its sour flavor seep into his taste buds. Figures it makes him look guilty for even asking—but that’s not what you think about me, right? Because what’s happening between us is different. It’s—it’s—

Instead, he asks Taehyung what he wants to be, what his dream is.

Jimin’s never seen Taehyung look shy before. But his shoulders are hunched in, and his voice is thinner when he admits, “I wanna design clothes. Have my own line one day. Maybe, I dunno, run the business myself.”

“And you think picking a fight with everyone you work with now is gonna help you with that later?”

A pause, heavy and thick like fog before a storm.

Jimin isn’t trying to be rude, just truthful. He figures if there’s anyone he can be brutally honest with, it’s Taehyung. Because he can tell that Taehyung was trained way too young, showing kindness is also showing weakness. Jimin hates whoever made him think that.

Taehyung’s quiet; he doesn’t answer. This time, it doesn’t look like he’s hand-picking his words like before. He’s just silent; he stares at his half-eaten food container and plays with it with his chopsticks.

Looking to fill the emptiness, grasping for some solid ground, Jimin says softly, “Your eye for outfits and even production—the set you envisioned and helped bring to life your opinions and ideas. That’s talent. You’re really talented. Everyone sees that. I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be whatever you set your mind to, Taehyung-ah.”

Jimin can tell Taehyung isn’t used to this either: people being nice to him.

From across that big bed that doesn’t belong to either of them, separated by an ocean of crumpled sheets and food containers, Jimin watches Taehyung chew his food in a way that Jimin can tell also means he’s chewing and digesting Jimin’s words.

Taehyung never responds, but that’s okay. Sometimes silence speaks when words can’t.

✢

The lights backstage make Jimin sweaty; he doesn’t know how the models stand the spotlights on stage—somehow remaining unaffected, poised, charismatic. How, despite the impossibly tight outfits made of unmerciful leather, embellished with heavy, metal trinkets and shoes that lessen the circulation in their feet, they’re able to ignore the heat. Must be similar to the way they ignore the stoic expressions of the critics in the crowd, the constant camera flash, and the pressure to be flawless.

“God,” Hoseok breathes out, that perfect smile of his beaming brighter than any light in the house. He puts his arm around Jimin as the two of them watch the pre-show madness and says, “I smell success in the air.”

“That’s just the Armani cologne you drowned the models in.” Jimin swats at Hoseok’s hand, walking toward the stage entrance. Jimin peeks out and takes in the crowd. The audience seems as if it’s doubled since the last show.

Hoseok sucks his teeth. Says dryly, “How do I always forget how fun you are before a show, hm?”

Jimin’s nervous before a show even when he knows he doesn’t have any real reason to be, and those nerves make him rigid and dismissive. Even when he knows the models could do the show in their sleep, even when they’ve tested the lights and the sound a million times, even when the wardrobe is striking and beautiful. He can’t help it. He worries like a father watching his kid go to their first day of school year after year.

From across the expanse of backstage, Jimin feels eyes wandering over his shoulder, tucking hair behind his ear, massaging his neck. Through dozens of hurrying bodies, Jimin locks eyes with one and feels the air slowing in his lungs for just a moment. Taehyung’s dressed for the opening, looking stunning as usual, letting a staff sculpt his already perfect hair.

They don’t have time to talk. At least not privately. They had peeled themselves out of the bed that wasn’t theirs and back into the nosy eye of the public. Taehyung drove himself, Jimin called for a car, and they both arrived separately for the show. Jimin sort of misses the weight of Taehyung’s bones on his.

“Showtime!” an assistant calls, clapping their hands to win over the attention of everyone. “Showtime!”

Jimin’s stomach drops to his ass, and his knees have to consciously keep him standing. He fixes his suit jacket and adjusts his tie, trying to look calm. Still, he feels eyes on him—calling for him from eighty bodies away.

Calm down, Taehyung’s eyes tell him. We got this. He has that confident, almost co*cky half-grin on his face. The one that plasters itself onto his lips before a show. One Jimin would think of seeing on a professional athlete stepping onto the court to defend their title. A calmness that Jimin admires.

Taehyung’s typically first in line as the lead, especially for their opening walk. Jimin watches the other models shuffle into their line order behind Taehyung. And just like him, they all stand confidently—shoulders back, chin up, hands loose at their sides. Jimin doesn’t know how they do it.

Jimin thinks loudly in Taehyung’s direction, good luck. And maybe Taehyung hears him because he glances over one more time. He smiles quickly at Jimin, half a second meant just for him. One that tells Jimin that he doesn’t need any luck to be great.

A different assistant counts down from five as the music, and the cheers start. When they get to one, Taehyung steps forward, and the rest of the models follow. And while they march down the runway, formation as tight as the military, self-confidence oozing from their pores, Jimin watches in awe. He doesn’t know how they do it, but he’s forever thankful to them for bringing his visions to life.

✢

“You, my friend, are a goddamn genius!”

Hoseok’s voice swirls around Jimin’s head like a tornado, dizzying him amid all the madness. Backstage is always chaos, but backstage after a better show than any of them would have dreamed? A stampede is on the rise. Everyone is hugging and smiling; Jimin hears bottles of champagne popping and overlapping joyous laughs. He can’t stop smiling.

Besides a few perpetually heartless critics, the audience gave them a standing ovation. Reporters rushed to the stage just seconds after it was over in an attempt to catch the models for a quick interview. Jimin has never had such an outwardly positive response to anything he’s created before. Something inside of him feels like it’s going to burst. His heart, maybe.

“They’re praising you on their blogs and feeds and livestreams as we speak!” Hoseok is, by nature, a ball of happiness. But right now, he’s pure electricity. His smile is Jimin’s favorite smile in the world, permanently blinding and contagious. “You’re gonna sleep so damn good tonight knowing you’re gonna wake up to nothing but the world kissing your feet.”

A voice that Jimin shouldn’t be able to pick out from across the madness catches his ear. And without even meaning to, Jimin turns just in time to lock eyes with Taehyung for a second. He’s being swarmed too—models, make-up artists, and stagehands crowding to congratulate him. He smiles at Jimin, and god, it’s so f*cking juvenile the way Jimin’s heart slams in his chest.

Strong hands shake Jimin hard by the shoulders. “—ing tonight?!”

Jimin blinks, disconnected. “Huh?”

Hoseok is too excited to notice Jimin’s lapse in concentration. He just repeats himself, same vigorous shoulder shake, same excitement: “Please tell me you’re f*ckin’ partying tonight?!”

Jimin is lucky he’s still standing between last night and the show tonight. He wants to make an old man joke about only being able to party once every quarter of the year, but he quickly realizes that would allude to something Hoseok absolutely shouldn’t know. So Jimin keeps his mouth shut.

Says instead, which is also the truth, “I’m so tired I could collapse. Only partying I’ll be doing is in my dreams.”

Hoseok’s shoulders visibly deflate for a second, but he’s too wired to let Jimin’s declination ruin his mood. He smacks Jimin’s shoulder and yells, “Suit yourself, bro!” over the crowd's noise, then disappears into the sea of celebrating bodies.

Jimin tries to follow Hoseok with his eyes, tries to keep track of him as he gets eaten up by the crowd, but he can’t. Instead, he finds Taehyung’s eyes again. Jeongguk has his arm around him, chatting loudly and excitedly with Joel, another model on the team. Jimin spots Yoongi on Taehyung’s other side, more interested in his phone than he is socializing. When Taehyung feels Jimin’s eyes on him from across the room, he looks over.

It’s a wordless conversation.

A quick raise of Jimin’s eyebrows, a tilt of his head.

Meet me? My office?

Taehyung cuts his eye down and to the right, pointing to Yoongi without pointing at all.

He wants us to leave soon.

A playful roll of Jimin’s eyes, another tilt of his head.

We’ll be quick. Come on.

A subtle smirk and a nod from Taehyung.

Okay.

Jimin purses his lips in satisfaction, just one-fourth of a smile, and turns on his heel in the opposite direction.

See you soon.

Hoseok should be a magician; he has a miraculous tendency to disappear and reappear when Jimin least expects it. His hand is heavy on Jimin’s shoulder, stopping him just a few feet from the exit door.

“Don’t tell me you’re ducking out early!”

Jimin barely looks back. He calls over his shoulder, “Bathroom,” and keeps walking.

He doesn’t slow down to hear if Hoseok points out that the bathroom is in the opposite direction or not.

✢

Sneaking around isn’t exactly Jimin’s forte, but he’s beginning to like its rush. His heart is in his throat in the best way, stomach heavy, foot tapping. His insides are coated in anticipation, dripping impatience. There are overlapping voices just down the hall, and Jimin’s hands are tingling, knowing Taehyung is casually making his way through the crowd, his destination unknown to everyone. Except for Jimin.

Jimin tucks his phone into his pocket just as two knocks are delivered to his office door and the hinges whine as they’re stretched just wide enough for a slender body to enter. Jimin, perched on the side of his desk, sits up straight and takes in a deep breath. He’s not counting the minutes or anything, but he’s been waiting for eleven. It’d be a lie if he said he wasn’t beginning to worry that maybe Yoongi dragged Taehyung out before he could sneak away.

“Sorry,” Taehyung whispers. He’s careful as he closes the door, twisting the knob to avoid any sound. He locks it. “A million people wanted to take pictures and—”

Jimin takes two steps, presses Taehyung against the door with both hands on his waist, and kisses him. Taehyung makes a cute sound, startled, as he settles in Jimin’s hold. He’s quick to catch up with Jimin’s mouth, parting his lips to let Jimin’s tongue enter.

“No time for talking,” Jimin manages between kisses.

Taehyung tastes like the expensive lip balm the makeup artist put on him and the celebratory shot of vodka he must’ve taken between backstage and here. Despite the bitter, distinct taste of alcohol, Taehyung’s lips are sweet. He breathes out through his nose, a sound bordering on a whine.

Breaking his own rule, Jimin pulls back, holding both sides of Taehyung’s face in his hands. His cheeks are squished, cute and innocent, while his lips are kissed a deep red, and his eyes are drunk on the thrill. “You looked so good,” Jimin whispers to him. He steals another kiss and corrects himself: “You look so good.”

“Says you,” Taehyung scoffs. He leans forward and kisses Jimin again, soft lips meeting soft lips. Teeth sink gently into Jimin’s bottom lip, just enough to send a wave of arousal down his body. “How many times do I have to tell you? You could easily be walking the runway.” Another kiss, another wave. Jimin’s getting dizzy. Taehyung’s breath is warm on his lips now when he whispers, “Hyung, you’re gorgeous.”

It doesn’t make any sense; the switch that has flipped in Jimin—in both of them, really. Because not long ago, just the sight of one another made them nauseous, homicidal. But now, even the thought of Taehyung makes Jimin dizzy with lust and something else. He’s never been so out of control of his actions and it feels exhilarating.

“Gorgeous,” Taehyung breathes like he’s wonder-struck. He kisses a sloppy line from Jimin’s lips to his neck, each kiss getting more desperate, like he’s losing control too. Jimin feels Taehyung’s hands on his chest, then sliding down his torso, then fingertips hooked around his belt. “So goddamn—” Taehyung nearly growls as he begins lowering himself. “—gorgeous.”

Jimin’s brain is lagging. It takes him a few extra seconds to register that Taehyung’s on his knees now, mouthing hungrily at his inner thigh, rubbing the heel of his palm over Jimin’s hardening length. Jimin’s dress pants are nearly paper-thin; he feels Taehyung’s hand intensely, his warm breath on his groin, and his knees daring to give out.

Leaning forward, Jimin presses his palm to the door to steady himself. His nails scratch against the wood. Taehyung is squished between his body and the door but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s on a mission, focused. Even through his slacks, Jimin feels the wet heat of Taehyung’s mouth when he opens wide. He tries to take Jimin in his mouth, despite the layers of clothing in his way. He makes a sound of frustration and begins fumbling with Jimin’s zipper.

“Taehyung-ah,” Jimin breathes, eyes rolling back and chin falling to his chest. He’s sweating; the air is too thick. His other hand combs through Taehyung’s hair, ruining in seconds what took the hair and makeup artist hours to create. He rocks his hips forward, chasing Taehyung’s mouth. Oppositely, he grits out, “Wait—”

“Wanna taste you,” Taehyung whispers, so lust-filled that his words run together. He undoes Jimin’s pants button, then tugs Jimin’s tucked-in dress shirt out of the way. Jimin bites his lip so hard he might puncture the skin.

And—f*ck, Jimin wants this so bad. He wants nothing more than to slide his co*ck down Taehyung’s throat, drown in the thick heat of his mouth, and watch his pretty lips stretch to take him. But they don’t have enough time. Too many people will be looking for them soon.

“Taehyung-ah,” Jimin calls again. “Hey.”

Taehyung’s hand is in his pants, rubbing him through his briefs that, between Taehyung’s mouth and Jimin’s precum, are undoubtedly sporting a wet spot now. Jimin feels himself twitch in anticipation and want, but he forces himself to be responsible. He crouches down, cups Taehyung’s face again, and stops him. Says, “We can’t. Not here. Not enough time.”

“So be quick,” Taehyung says back, half sarcasm, half flirt. There’s a slight roll to his eyes, like Jimin’s missing something obvious. ”C’mon…” He tries to break away from Jimin’s hold, but Jimin stops him again.

Jimin pulls Taehyung to his feet and kisses him. “What if I don’t wanna be quick?” Another kiss, slower this time, deeper. His tongue brushes over Taehyung’s. “What if… I wanna take my time with you? Take you apart slowly? Be inside you for hours?” Intrigue flashes in Taehyung’s eyes and Jimin tells him, “Come over tonight.”

Taehyung groans into their next kiss. Jimin feels the vibration on his lips. “Can’t. Goin’ to the party thing, remember?”

“Come over after,” Jimin proposes. It’s his turn to tease. He gives Taehyung’s ass a hard slap and then massages it in big, slow circles. Biting gently at Taehyung’s bottom lip when he kisses him again, he says, “You know you want to.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, playful and cute. “You even gonna be awake, grandpa? It’ll be late.”

“f*ck you,” Jimin giggles. He pushes at Taehyung’s shoulder, but he can’t resist, he kisses him again.

“f*ck me?” Taehyung questions back, a quirk to his eyebrow. “You better.” He tips his head, finds Jimin’s earlobe, and sucks. Jimin swallows down a moan.

It’s then that Taehyung’s phone starts ringing. They both know it’s Yoongi. Taehyung’s shoulders deflate like a teenager whose parents are calling them home. Honestly, the wayYoongi looks after Taehyung it’s similar enough. He pouts into the kiss and makes cute I don’t wanna go noises.

Taehyung’s reluctant, but he pulls back first. He checks his phone and then states what they both know. “It’s Yoongi-hyung,” he says. “I gotta go.”

Their last kiss is quick, promising more to come later tonight. Jimin puts himself back together—tucks himself back into his pants, straightens his shirt, zips up—as he watches Taehyung sneak back out the way he snuck in.

✢

Hours later, Jimin is stuck. Stupidly stuck and frozenon choices that shouldn’t mean anything but do for some reason. He sighs, exasperated.

Maybe Jimin is just out of practice. Maybe he’s lost his grip on how this goes—not that he’s had much experience at all, admittedly. He spent most of his late teens and twenties studying, working his way up. Not much time for. . . this.

(What the f*ck is this, anyway? Is what they’re doing still considered a booty call? Do people even call it that anymore?)

Cool air from his refrigerator nips at Jimin’s skin as he contemplates. Wine or champagne? Jimin looks over his shoulder, eyes landing on his home bar. Vodka, maybe? Whiskey? His index finger taps on the door, leg bouncing. This shouldn’t be this hard.

By nature, Jimin is an over-thinker. He has to be; it’s his responsibility to think twice, sometimes three times, for the people on his team. His life runs smoother when there are clear-cut answers. And that’s the problem now: there isn’t a clear-cut answer. What he and Taehyung are isn’t clean cut.

They’ve had nights together before, of course, but tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the adrenaline and the lingering high of a great second show. Maybe it’s the thrill of Taehyung coming to his apartment to spend the night for the first time. But Jimin’s thoughts and feelings are jumbled.

What is clear-cut is that the two of them are both well-known, high-profile people. So sneaking around is risky at best, stupid at worst. At the end of the day, they’re still employer and employee. Taehyung works for him. The situation is messy. And Jimin’s overpowering desire to keep his hands clean and his name out of the press’ mouth has made this whole thing the nauseating type of thrill. He wants this, wants Taehyung, but he knows it comes at a price.

A price that he’s going to make the conscious choice to not think about right now. Because tonight is going to be a good night.

So Jimin grabs the champagne because they’re celebrating tonight, and the day after a show means no practice. They can drink all they want and stay up all night with no obligations tomorrow. He grabs a bucket and fills it with ice. Taehyung said he’d leave the party early, so he should be on his way within an hour or so.

Jimin tries not to acknowledge how happy he is to know that, but it’s hard to ignore how his insides are absolutely buzzing.

✢

Turns out all of Jimin’s overthinking didn’t matter. He falls asleep on the couch sometime after 1 in the morning.

The ice around the champagne melts.

Taehyung never comes.

✢

It’s the vibration under Jimin’s thigh that stirs him awake. Rattles him out of dreamless slumber, rubbing the sleep out of his eye, heart racing.

The phone stops ringing; missing the call before he can get his fingers to work. But it rings again immediately after. The persistence makes Jimin nervous without even knowing why. No one calls this many times at this hour for a good reason. What time is it anyway? 2 a.m.? 3?

The light from Jimin’s phone is painful, blinding. He squints as he fumbles with the device, face twisted and vision blurry. He blinks hard. Hard enough to feel the strain between his eyebrows. But when he opens his eyes again, he can read the name on the screen.

Taehyung.

A co*cktail of emotions mix in Jimin’s chest—confusion, worry, grogginess—but disappointment pushes its way to the forefront. A moss-colored, foul-smelling, ugly feeling that he tried to keep locked away while he watched the hours drift by. While he wanted to pretend he didn’t care that Taehyung didn’t come over when he said he would. And he’s too tired, too caught off guard to keep the bitterness out of his voice because now Taehyung calls? After 3:30 a.m., when it’s obvious he’s not coming over? Too busy with whatever—whoever—at the party?

His body is still working on autopilot as he answers the phone and puts it to his ear. Bass from music being blasted too loud stings Jimin’s eardrum through the receiver.

“Listen,” Jimin answers, bypassing hello or any other formalities. “If you wanted to stay at the party instead, you could’ve just texted me bef—”

“Hyung.”

Jimin stops. Swallows hard despite the dryness in his mouth. It’s Taehyung, but he sounds different. Drunk, sure. But also. . . distressed? A little scared?

Annoyance drains from Jimin’s body and is replaced with worry. It starts at his feet and rises quickly, drowning him. He sits up straight, pressing the phone harder to his ear.

“Taehyung, are you okay?” Jimin asks slowly, carefully. He strains his ear to listen to the background noise. There’s water running. A sink? And he hears someone pounding on something. The door? The wall? It’s hard to tell for sure with the music so loud. When the response is too delayed, Jimin calls, “Taehyung.”

“I—” Taehyung starts and then stops. Jimin hears him sigh; air pushes out hard through his nose. He whispers, “I d’n’t feel good.”

Jimin’s standing now, pacing. He runs a hand through his hair. Nervous habit. “Are you drunk?”

A few seconds of silence. Too long.

“Taehyung—”

“I dunno,” he slurs. It sounds like it’s taking all of his energy just to talk. “I just. . . I only had a few. . .” Another deep breath. A groan. “I d’n’t feel good. I wan’ leave.”

Jimin’s eyes adjust slowly to the darkness of his apartment. He finds his shoes and toes them on. Despite that, he asks, “Where’s Yoongi? He can take you home.”

Again, Taehyung says, “I dunno.” His voice is getting softer, bordering on a whimper. Like he’s fading out. “Lost ‘im, I think.”

That makes Jimin nervous. He’s picturing the worst—Taehyung curled up on the floor somewhere of that raunchy hotel party, phone dangling between his ear and shoulder, legs too unsteady and brain too cloudy to walk him somewhere safe.

“Hyung,” Taehyung calls again. His voice is shaking when he asks, “Will you help me?” He sounds so young; Jimin’s heart is twisting in his chest. The music is giving Jimin a headache through the phone, he can’t imagine how Taehyung’s head must be pounding.

There are no thoughts behind Jimin’s actions. He just moves. Grabs the keys to the car he never uses instead of calling for a ride or waking his driver. Leaves the house in just the clothes he’s wearing, only mindful of grabbing a coat before the door shuts. He talks a little too loudly for after 3.30 a.m. as he power walks down the hallway.

“Of course,” Jimin responds. “I’m already on my way.”

He has the address of the party Taehyung’s at. Taehyung texted it to him earlier when he tried to convince him to come have a drink. Jimin declined; he said it was too risky. Knew they’d be terrible at being discreet in public once they had a few drinks. Plus, the promise of Taehyung coming back to his apartment was much more tempting.

But if Jimin had known this was how the night would turn out, he would’ve just gone to the stupid party.

✢

Today, 3:56 AM

To: Kim Taehyung
im here
where are you?

This place is disgusting. The soles of Jimin’s shoes stick to the hardwood floor, and he doesn’t allow himself to sort through all of the possible reasons why. Similar to the club Taehyung took him to, the air is cloudy, but this time it’s actual smoke, not from a machine. The air is thick and tastes sour; cigarettes, weed, and who knows what else are mixing. Jimin’s nose burns as he squeezes past sweaty, drunk bodies dancing. The lights are dimmed. It’s disorienting with the wall shaking and vibrant colors moving in random shapes along the walls and ceiling. Jimin keeps his head down, focused.

He texted Taehyung when he arrived, asking for his specific location in this cesspool, but he hasn’t answered yet. It’s a passing thought in Jimin’s mind that he’s blacked out somewhere, but he doesn’t let that thought linger.

Jimin only gets a few steps into the area of the penthouse being used for refreshments, countertops littered with open bottles and plastic cups when a palm smacks against his chest.

“Jimin-ssi?”

It’s Jeongguk. He’s visibly tipsy, leaning against the counter, beer in hand. His eyes are nearly half-lidded, and his lips are reddened. The light coat of lip coloring he must’ve been wearing is smeared. He’s been kissing someone, but he’s seemingly alone now. He sways on his feet and yells over the music, “Didn’t expect to see you here! You partying with us?!”

Jimin looks around, surveying the room. Taehyung and Jeongguk are nearly attached at the hip these days. Taehyung must be around here, or, at least, Jeongguk must know where he is. But Jimin can’t tell if asking him is wise. There’s still a big part of him that’s hesitant even to say his name aloud, nervous that someone will connect the dots and out them.

So Jimin tries to be casual. He half-smiles around a, “Yeah, maybe,” and then asks, “Anyone else from the team here? I’m lookin’ for Hoseok.”

Jeongguk’s drunk-confused face is cute. He pinches his eyebrows and pouts as he thinks. “Hoseokie-hyung? No, I haven’t,” he shakes his head, long black hair skirting by his ears, “I haven’t seen him in a while. I think he left.” He’s quiet for a minute but then gasps like he’s excited and tells Jimin, “Hani is here, though! And Michael-hyung.” Now he’s counting off on his fingers, “Amy-noona, Junho-hyung, that… photographer guy? Ryan? Roman? Um, Taehyungie-hyung, Beomseokie-hyung…”

Jimin stops listening. He takes out his phone.

Today, 4:03 AM

To: Kim Taehyung
are you ok?
answer me
where are you??

It’s rude, Jimin knows, that he’s walking away as Jeongguk is still rattling off names. But he’s drunk, and the blissful gleam in his eye tells Jimin he won’t remember much about tonight, let alone their three-minute conversation. Jimin knocks shoulders with strangers as he pushes his way through more sweaty, uncoordinated bodies. And when he gets impatient, forty-five seconds later, he calls Taehyung instead.

“Hm,” Taehyung groans into the receiver just two rings before it’d automatically go to voicemail. “H’llo?” Their background noise, the music, is overlapping now. Jimin knows they’re close, but he doesn’t know where he is. Jimin rakes his hand through his hair.

“What the f*ck,” Jimin replies. Loud enough to be heard through the phone. It’s a sigh, though. A relieved one if he’s being honest with himself. What it sounds like is thank god you answered. Jimin reaches another intersection of the penthouse. “I’ve been texting you. Did you get them? Where are you? I’m here.”

Taehyung makes a weak sound. Slurs out, “Th’nk I fell ‘sleep.” He takes a deep breath. Mumbles, “Feel lightheaded.”

Jimin spins. Does a full three-sixty in the middle of this zoo of a party. He looks out of place. He is out of place.

“So tell me where the hell you are, and we can go home,” Jimin says. He hates how his voice sounds right now. When he gets anxious, he sounds angry. He doesn’t mean to sound angry at Taehyung. So he swallows hard, grips his phone, and says, “Tae, please.”

It takes a few seconds. Eventually, Taehyung tells him through another exasperated sigh, “Bathroom.”

That’s all Jimin needs. He goes running.

✢

It was inevitable that people were going to see them. Jimin made as much peace as possible with that truth halfway through his drive there. He gave himself a pep talk; he told himself that people would see him—see them—and that’s that. There will be pictures posted, blurry videos, and rumors. But still, he was foolish for having the hope that they’d be allowed even a sliver of privacy between now and then. Wishful thinking.

Jimin knew he was drawing attention to himself with the way he was pounding on the bathroom door, but Taehyung was unresponsive on the other side for too long. A crowd of bystanders with piqued interest and vodka-smelling sweat huddled around just as Jimin was contemplating kicking the door in. He could do it, he was sure, but—being responsible for damages? He could already see the headlines. Fashion Producer Jimin Park Takes Raging to the Next Level: Owes Thousands in Repairs for Hotel’s Broken Penthouse Bathroom Door.

The knob broke before the door did, though. Dislodged just enough for the lock to shimmy out of place, allowing the door to open but not properly lock again. Jimin wasn’t particularly interested in the latter. He was only focused on getting a very incapacitated Taehyung off the bathroom floor and into his car.

Taehyung tiptoed the line between conscious and unconscious as Jimin quickly looked him over, patted him down to ensure he still had his phone and wallet, and then bore most of his weight to stand him up. He was propped up against the toilet, forehead sweaty and hair messy like he’d been prepping to vomit. He made groaning sounds of discomfort as Jimin urged him along and took unsteady steps to keep up with Jimin’s stride.

Jimin kept his head down as he all but bulldozed his way back to the front. He knocked shoulders with partygoers and ignored the random people calling Taehyung’s name as they shuffled by. Jimin could feel eyes on them, cameras on them, but he didn’t stop.

As they stepped out into the cool nighttime air, Jimin gripped Taehyung’s waist so roughly he was sure he’d have a bruise tomorrow. There were flashes of phone cameras twinkling behind them like stars. And as Jimin hoisted Taehyung into the passenger seat, he heard someone ask loudly, “Is that Taehyung and Jimin?”

Jimin slammed the car door shut and took off down the street. He tried not to think about how f*cked they would be by the time they woke up.

✢

“You look like a wet poodle,” Jimin mumbles, a sad smile to accompany. He’s trying to pretend his heart isn’t in his throat, still pounding a mile a minute. He’s trying to pretend he isn’t terrified as he rubs Taehyung’s bare back. Shaky fingers drag along the ridges of his spine and then curve around his nape, massaging gently. Taehyung leans into his touch for just a second, and Jimin’s insides go warm.

They've gone from the party’s bathroom floor in only half an hour to Jimin’s bathroom floor. Jimin finds some comfort in at least knowing his floor is clean. But that doesn’t negate the fact that Taehyung’s naked, shivering, and can barely keep his eyes open for half a minute. Jimin’s mind is racing.

He left Taehyung in here alone (against his better judgment) for him to get dressed but came rushing in when he heard a bang. Jimin had helped him with a shower, and after he seemed to gain back some of his bearings, Jimin wanted to believe he could handle the rest on his own. But now, Taehyung’s nearly a mirror image of how he was before: draped helplessly over the toilet, skin damp, hair a curly, disheveled mess, groaning in discomfort. Only difference is this time, he’s sporting a cut on his shin. He must’ve gotten it during his tumble to the ground. It’s bleeding.

“Still feel sick?” Jimin asks, although it’s painfully obvious. He just doesn’t know what else he can do besides just. . . being here. But that doesn’t feel like enough, either. So he asks, “Can I look at your leg?”

Taehyung’s response is a moan as he shifts, lowering himself into a sitting position on the cold tile floor. Jimin’s sitting on the lip of the tub just inches away, so Taehyung rests his head against the side of his thigh and exhales deeply.

It’s a quick fix; Jimin has a first aid kit under the sink. He crouches in front of Taehyung, who is now using the tub to keep himself upright, his back against the white porcelain, while Jimin works. There’s a towel draped loosely around Taehyung, hanging low on his hips and unraveling steadily. Jimin hikes up the end of the towel brushing against his cut, maroon now stains the gray material, and patches him up quickly.

“You’re gonna be just fine,” Jimin says, but it’s mostly for himself if he's honest.

It’s a failing attempt at trying to keep his cool. Especially since Taehyung admitted through broken half-sentences that he’s not sure if he’s feeling this sick from smoking what he was toldwas “just weed” with an “acquaintance” of his, or if someone put something in his drink when he set it down to play beer pong. Or maybe it’s just plain ol’ alcohol poisoning. None of these options bring Jimin’s heart rate down to a resting level. And if it wasn’t simultaneously breaking for how absolutely vulnerable Taehyung looks right now, he’d smack him for being so damn reckless.

“Hey,” Jimin calls. He finds Taehyung’s hand and shakes it. Taehyung’s fading out again, chin hanging toward his chest, eyes fluttering shut.

Reluctantly, he lifts his head. Moans out, “Hmm?”

“Let’s get you dried off and dressed, okay? And I have some water for you. Then we can go to bed.”

Jimin’s pulling on Taehyung’s hand now, trying to rouse him enough to assist with standing up. Situating them with Taehyung’s arm around his shoulder and Jimin’s arm around his waist, Jimin braces his knees. Says, “C’mon, baby, you gotta help as much as you can,” and they grunt as they strain and wobble into a stance.

“Oh,” Taehyung breathes. His hand comes to his forehead, hiding most of his face. He leans his weight into Jimin and mutters, “‘m dizzy.”

Okay, Jimin reasons in his head, we can do this with him sitting down. Without a word, Jimin helps lower Taehyung onto the toilet. Kicks the lid down and hovers his hands around Taehyung’s shoulders like he’s a domino Jimin’s trying to ensure won’t tip over. When Taehyung’s balance is steadied, Jimin relaxes.

“Okay,” he says aloud this time. He’s thinking, thinking, thinking. “Okay, um. We’ll, uh—we’ll just get dressed here. I’ll bring your clothes and your water. It’s fine, I’ll—it’s fine. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Taehyung’s not listening. Not really, and Jimin knows that. But it brings Jimin comfort to speak aloud, so that’s what he’s going to do. He takes one last look at Taehyung before he leaves to grab what they need, then power walks out of the bathroom.

And just as Jimin’s tossing the sweatpants and sleep shirt over his shoulder and rushing to the kitchen, there’s a knock on his door. Not just a knock—a pounding. Someone is f*cking pounding on his door. But it’s no later than five a.m.; no one should be here at all, let alone knocking like they demand to be let in.

For the millionth time tonight, Jimin’s heart rate spikes. His first thought is the worst-case scenario. He thinks a fan must’ve followed us. They must’ve followed us from the party, got past the doorman somehow, and found where I live. Instinctively, his eyes glance at the baseball bat resting in the corner of his foyer. His fingertips twitch, making split-decision judgments of if he needs to answer the door with it—or if he’s going to answer it at all. He could pretend he’s asleep, or not home, or—

Another pounding on his door. Harder this time, surely enough to shake the doorframe and begin to disturb his neighbors. Determined and deliberate knocks. Knuckles to wood over and over and over. Whoever it is apparently wouldn’t take being ignored lightly. At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before they kick his door in. Jimin feels his shoulders tense and his temples throb.

“Alright, you asshole,” Jimin mutters, “you clearly wanna talk. So let’s f*ckin’ talk.” His anger spikes right along with his need to protect. His home, himself, Taehyung—because who the f*ck has the audacity to do something like this? Doesn’t matter because Jimin’s going to make them regret it.

He walks back toward the bathroom first, pokes his head in, and sees Taehyung hunched over where he left him. Elbows to knees, head in hands, swaying ever so slightly like the toilet is afloat at sea. Jimin holds onto the doorknob and says, “Everything’s fine. I’ll be right back.” He closes Taehyung in and hopes whatever is about to happen is muffled enough not to penetrate through the door.

Then, he sets the glass of water and the sleep clothes down on the kitchen island. Lastly, he gathers his bat and his fury that’s all but oozing out of his pores now. There isn’t a peephole on his door, which never bothered Jimin before this exact moment. So to keep some barrier between him and the jackass on the other side, Jimin slides the chain into place before yanking the door open with so much force it crosses his mind a little too late that he might break his own door.

“What the f*ck is your problem—?!”

Jimin stops, eyes wide, choking on air.

He freezes and then goes numb for a moment.

The bat clinks as it hits the floor.

He blinks.

Blinks again because—

“Yoongi?”

“Jimin?”

And it’s a reflex, Jimin swears, that he slams the door back shut.

✢

When Yoongi immediately orders Jimin to open the goddamn door, he does. His body is moving on autopilot, shell shocked. Shaky fingers unlatch the chain and twist the doorknob. Yoongi comes in without being invited. Jimin steps aside and closes the door behind him. He feels like a robot. No thoughts, just actions.

“Where is he?” Yoongi cuts right to the point.

He leans on one leg and peeks further into the open plan of Jimin’s apartment. Sees into his kitchen and his living room at once.

“Who?”

Jimin blinks again, brain not catching up quickly enough. And it’s a stupid response because there’s only one he Yoongi would nearly break a door down at five in the morning for. But Jimin’s also still in protective mode. And secret-keeping mode. And confused mode because, really, what the f*ck is happening?

Yoongi sucks his teeth and cuts his eye at Jimin like he’s offended. “I’m not f*cking stupid,” he says. And then, with a sigh, “Just—he’s here, right? Not just his phone for some weird reason?”

Now Jimin is really losing track of what’s happening, but the only sure thing is that Yoongi knows Taehyung is here somehow. So there’s no point in hiding that. Especially since the longer Jimin looks at Yoongi, it becomes apparent that he’s worried. His hair is less tidy, his eyes are tired, and he’s in clothes that tell Jimin he was sleeping before he came over here but was in such a rush that he didn’t bother wasting time changing.

“He’s in the bathroom,” Jimin admits, gesturing with his arm down the hall.

Yoongi makes a beeline in that direction, much faster than his little legs are meant to take him. And just as he reaches the beginning of the hallway, it dawns on Jimin how bad this looks without context. Taehyung, in the condition he’s in, slumped over on his toilet, in nothing but a towel that might’ve fallen off by now. So Jimin starts explaining. Quickly. Before Yoongi reaches the door.

“He said he called you but couldn’t get in touch with you. So he—” Jimin stops, swallows, “—he called me. He’s drunk, I think. Really drunk. And maybe high? Or maybe—I really, f*ck, I dunno.” Yoongi’s not responding to Jimin’s info-dumping. Just keeps walking. Jimin hovers behind him like a shadow and keeps explaining. “But he doesn’t feel good. He doesn’t look good. And he was in trouble when he called me. Said he couldn’t get home so—”

Yoongi finds the bathroom and opens it without knocking. He takes one complete step onto the tile, momentum pushing him forward, but then he gets a good look at Taehyung and stops dead in his tracks. And after a hard, shaky deep breath through his nose, all Yoongi mutters is, "f*ck, Taehyung,” before he hurries toward him.

Jimin watches from the doorway. Watches the way Yoongi crouches in front of Taehyung and worriedly calls for him. Watches the way he brushes his hair out of his face and asks if he’s okay. Watches Yoongi’s hands as they secure the towel back around Taehyung’s waist. And Jimin can’t help but wonder how they got here, how they developed this type of relationship, this genre of love. They’re more than just agent and model. They’re family, and it’s more apparent now to Jimin than ever. Yoongi doesn't just look after Taehyung because he has to; he does it because he wants to. It makes Jimin happy, if he’s being honest, knowing Taehyung has someone faithfully in his corner. Yoongi would kill for him. That much is clear. And because of that, Jimin feels the need to report how he’s been taking care of Taehyung. So Yoongi knows he’s been in good hands.

Jimin bites his bottom lip and shifts his weight. “I, uh, helped him shower. Was hoping it’d help him sober up, but. . .” his voice trails off. But he steadies it and continues. “He fell. That’s what the bandage on his leg is from. It’s pretty small. Should be fine. I was just about to get him changed so he could sleep this off.”

Yoongi looks back at him now. And Jimin sees in his eyes that a million sentences are running through his head. But he settles on: “Thank you.” Jimin offers a smile that’s nothing more than the raising of one side of his mouth. It drops as Yoongi stands and says, “I’m gonna get him home. We don’t wanna impose any more than we’ve already—I’m sorry he called you.”

Two things become clear to Jimin then: one, Yoongi and Taehyung are a we. To get to Taehyung means to get to Yoongi. And two, Yoongi either is really good at pretending or genuinely hasn’t made the connection between him and Taehyung. Because he’s acting as if it's just some random inconvenience that Taehyung called Jimin tonight. Like a silly butt-dial. And that Jimin helped Taehyung purely out of the kindness of his heart. Jimin helped because he wanted to, and it was the right thing to do, sure, but it’s much more complex than that.

“Actually,” Jimin begins before he can filter through all of the reasons he shouldn’t, “I was—uh, I can do it. I got him. He can stay.”

Yoongi stands. Slowly, one joint at a time. He settles with a hand on Taehyung’s back and an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at Jimin. He swallows. Jimin watches his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. And Jimin sees him calculating, piecing it together, drawing a conclusion. The only conclusion.

His next blink shows clarity, the epiphany kind. The blink after that shows distrust and skepticism. Jimin understands then that this is something he and Yoongi have in common: the need to protect. Neither of them would be here right now if they didn’t.

So before Yoongi can speak, Jimin says, “You can stay too. I just—would hate to move him so much when he’s feeling like this.”

Still, Yoongi’s silent. Still calculating.

Jimin gestures toward Taehyung. “He’s gotta be freezing.” Then, he gestures over his shoulder. “I, uh, have clothes for him in the kitchen. I’m gonna grab them and get him dressed so he can rest.”

And Jimin knows technically he has no right to tell Yoongi what he’s going to do with Taehyung and where he’s going to stay tonight. Yoongi and Taehyung are family. As far as Yoongi is concerned, Jimin is probably just another industry scumbag who can’t keep his hands to himself. Jimin doesn’t have to squint too hard to read between the lines and know that Yoongi’s this protective of Taehyung for a reason. That Taehyung’s this tough for a reason. There’s history here, and even if Jimin hasn’t been told word for word, he can infer. He knows the dirtbags in the industry who think rules don’t apply to them, who trade golden tickets for sneaky touches. He knows the culture. He’s read the articles.

Typically, Jimin feels no need to emphasize that he’s a decent person with no ulterior motives, but he’s also good at reading a room. When it comes to working on his sets, Jimin’s in charge and has the upper hand. But here, right now, Yoongi at least deserves some peace of mind. Both as Taehyung’s self-appointed big brother and as Jimin’s senior.

So Jimin nods in Yoongi’s direction and follows up with, “. . .if that’s alright with you, of course. And—really, you can stay too.”

It takes thirty seconds for Yoongi’s shoulders to relax. He looks down at Taehyung and then back at Jimin. Jimin sees him hesitate. Just for a second. And then he says, “I’ll be in the living room,” and leaves them alone.

✢

Figuring getting socks and sweatpants onto Taehyung would be the most challenging part, Jimin started there. Currently, Taehyung sits on the toilet as Jimin rubs a towel through his hair, trying to dry it.

Taehyung’s awake, but it’s the kind where although his eyes are open, Jimin’s not confident that much of what’s happening is sinking in. Jimin talks to him anyway. Fills the silence.

“Almost done,” Jimin says. “Just don’t want you laying down with wet hair.”

No more than a minute later and Jimin is true to his word. He tosses the towel in the sink and moves on to situating the shirt in the most accessible position to help Taehyung put it on. But somewhere between the first arm and the second, Taehyung holds his arm out like he’s trying to keep Jimin away. But it’s not defensive, it’s guarding. When Jimin looks up, admittedly a bit confused, he immediately recognizes the look on Taehyung’s face.

“Gonna be sick?” Jimin asks just moments before Taehyung scrambles to aim his mouth toward the toilet and not Jimin’s chest. He makes it in time, with Jimin’s help, his shirt halfway on.

And still, Jimin is right there. He rubs Taehyung’s back and whispers to him, “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. Just—you’ll feel better after. It’s alright. Get it all out. There you go.”

Despite not having a long partying phase in his early twenties, Jimin’s been here before, and he knows vomiting is awful. And even though Jimin should find this disgusting, he can only think about making sure Taehyung’s okay. So he stays with him, rubs calming circles on his back, and talks to him until he settles.

“‘m sorry,” Taehyung whispers, still hovering over the toilet. He’s been done for a few minutes now, but Jimin knows how nausea lingers. He gives Taehyung all the time he needs.

“Don’t be sorry,” Jimin tells him, and he means it. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s just—I have a box of toothbrushes. You can brush your teeth and lie down, okay? I’ll lay with you.”

Taehyung lets Jimin help him up. He fixes his own shirt and then groans at the effort it took. Jimin giggles and kisses the side of his head. “Let’s finish up, okay? Almost done.”

And when they turn to face the sink, Jimin hears the bathroom door creaking. It sways gently, subtly like someone was holding onto it from the hallway. It’s then that Jimin realizes Yoongi was listening the whole time.

✢

“I’ll start,” Yoongi says flatly without prompting.

He’s sitting with his legs and arms crossed, top foot tapping, eyes looking directly at Jimin but also somehow looking right through him. He’s across the living room, on Jimin’s loveseat, facing Jimin and Taehyung. And while Jimin would’ve preferred letting Taehyung sleep in his bed, he felt obligated to bring him to the living room where Yoongi was. Currently, he’s asleep with his head on Jimin’s lap. Jimin has a hand on his back. He looks up at Yoongi and raises an intrigued, confused eyebrow.

“He shares his location with me. That’s how I knew he was here. Or, at the very least, that his phone was,” Yoongi starts. His gaze drifts lower the longer he talks. “I left the party early. Fell asleep. Didn’t hear my phone ringing when he was calling. I woke up randomly, checked my phone, read his messages, and listened to his voicemails. I could tell he wasn’t in any position to go home with someone, so when I saw he was at an address I didn’t recognize. . .”

“You came right over,” Jimin finishes for him.

“I came right over,” Yoongi parrots. He offers no explanation why Taehyung shares his location with him or why he didn’t hesitate to bang on a stranger’s door at dawn to find him. He doesn’t have to.

Yoongi cranes his neck and forces a smile when he says, “Last person I expected to open the door was you, though.”

“Same,” Jimin giggles. Then, realizing the implication doesn’t exactly align, he says, “Well, you know what I mean.”

Their smiles only linger on their faces for a few seconds. Yoongi’s studying them—Taehyung peaceful, asleep on Jimin’s lap, Jimin with his hand on Taehyung’s back, holding him close. He looks at them in silence for so long Jimin starts to feel invasive somehow. Like sharing an intimate moment that isn’t meant to be shared. It makes Jimin’s cheeks feel warm.

So that’s when he says, “So I guess it’s my turn, huh?”

Yoongi isn’t Taehyung’s father, and Jimin knows that he doesn’t need to defend what they have. But he does feel the need to clarify a few things. He starts with, because he feels like it’s the most important, “I genuinely care about him. And I know that sounds fake or whatever, considering we hated each other when we first met. But I mean it. I care about him. So when he called me and said he needed help. . .”

“You came right over,” Yoongi huffs through the irony.

Jimin's hand travels up Taehyung’s back and gets lost in his hair. He twirls a tuft of soft black curls around his middle finger.

“I came right over.”

They’re not so different, Jimin and Yoongi.

They’re quiet for a time. Long enough for Taehyung’s gentle snoring to be the loudest thing in the room. The sun is rising now; it bathes Jimin’s apartment in a peachy orange. Typically a new day signifies a new beginning. Maybe that’s still true in this case, but it’s not exactly that comforting.

Breaking the silence, Jimin tells Yoongi, “People saw us last night. Took pictures.”

“I figured.” Yoongi’s voice is steady, flat, and lacking emotion one way or the other.

“So,” Jimin continues, ensuring his point gets across. “I would imagine there’s already an Internet sh*tstorm. Articles, tweets, rumors, a video up on TMZ.”

Again, Yoongi says, “I figured.”

It’s apparent to Jimin then that he’s the only one in this situation that’s a newbie at this. His name is never mentioned unless it’s directly related to fashion production. Years in this industry, and he’s never had a dating rumor. Never had anything the public would consider scandal. Taehyung, on the other hand, has had more than anyone dares to count. He and Yoongi are old pros at this. But the only thing Jimin wonders is how they handle the world when the rumors are true.

Putting his pride aside, Jimin asks in a soft voice, “What do we do?”

And to that, Yoongi nearly smiles. It’s been a long time since someone has looked at Jimin this way. Like he’s a young, naive boy. But it’s not demeaning; it’s almost comforting. Like Yoongi is here to look after him too. Even if it’s just for a little while.

He shrugs. “Nothing. Everything. You and Taehyung are on the fast track to being the top names in your respective lanes. You’re on top of the world. You can spin this whichever way you both agree on.”

There’s a subtle but necessary emphasis on ‘both.’ Jimin would never sh*t-talk Taehyung to the media, but Yoongi doesn’t know that. Again, Jimin feels the need to explain.

“Listen, Taehyung and me—”

“Don’t.” Yoongi cuts him off. His voice remains light, even. It’s a gentle hand on Jimin's shoulder, slowing him down. “I don’t wanna know.”

Jimin feels his eyebrows furrow. “But—”

“I’m serious. I don’t wanna know.” Yoongi’s eyes shift just slightly down to Taehyung. “At least, not like this. He’ll tell me when he’s ready, and he’s the only person I wanna hear it from.”

Slowly, Jimin’s mouth closes. His teeth click when they meet. He looks away, unsure of what to say now.

A moment later, Yoongi speaks again. “He trusts you,” Yoongi says. “And he doesn’t trust anyone. Don’t take that lightly.”

Jimin doesn’t speak. He just nods.

“And if he trusts you, then I’ll trust you. But only for as long as he does. And I’ll do it with caution. That’s the way this works.”

Yoongi uncrosses his legs but keeps his arms crossed. He turns his head and looks out at New York City waking up. Heavy traffic, pedestrians, skyscrapers. A new day.

Neither of them says anything else. Nothing else is needed.

✢

Somehow, when Jimin wakes up again, Taehyung is still asleep. But he’s moving like he’s dreaming, so Jimin figures it wouldn’t be awful to wake him up now. Besides, the sun is setting. They’ve slept the day away. And while the rest is much needed, they need to talk about what happened and what’s going to happen. The world is a little different now for the two of them.

The first thing Taehyung says when he’s fully awake is, “I’m so sorry.” And Jimin can tell by just looking in his eyes that he means it sincerely. He says this after Jimin had woken him up gently, got him some water, and made them dinner. Says this after Jimin tells him that they were spotted last night, so there’s bound to be rumors buzzing by now.

And Taehyung just keeps apologizing. He apologizes for not texting Jimin last night, getting too caught up in the party, and getting so wasted he had to call him. Says sorry for the headlines that are indeed running by now. Says sorry because he knows this is the last thing Jimin wanted: his name everywhere for something like this.

They’re cuddling. It’s easier to talk this way. Forces them to remain calm and speak in hushed tones. They can feel each other’s heartbeat like this; they know when the other is getting worked up. Somewhere along the way, Jimin has the passing thought that he likes this—Taehyung in his clothes, Taehyung on his couch, Taehyung in his arms.

“I’m just,” Taehyung’s struggling to find the words. “Just—so f*ckin’ sorry for dragging you into this. I was stupid. I’m so stupid. I always do stupid things and then—”

“Hey,” Jimin cuts him off. “None of that, okay? We’ll figure it out.” Because he’s not gonna sit here and listen to Taehyung tear himself down. Sure, maybe Taehyung can work on impulse control, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. And Jimin knows he knows that. He’s just upset right now and a little overwhelmed.

It’s almost eerie how calm Jimin feels. Maybe it’s being cocooned here in his apartment, no cellphones, just the two of them. Maybe it’s the warmth and weight of Taehyung in his arms. Or maybe, deep down, Jimin made peace with the fact that this was inevitable.

No one in this industry has a secret. They’re no exception.

“I guess,” Taehyung says as Jimin traces his lips, studies his features, and drinks him in. “We gotta figure out what we’re gonna do.”

Jimin’s answer is simple. “I wanna do whatever you wanna do.”

Taehyung’s quiet for a minute. Thinking. He looks up when he thinks, Jimin notices. Pushes his tongue at the back of his bottom lip. It’s cute. Everything he does is cute.

Eventually, Taehyung says exactly what Jimin was hoping he’d say.

“What we do is no one’s goddamn business.”

Jimin’s smile grows on his lips. He thinks he's beaming, it should be embarrassing, but it’s not because he's with Taehyung.

“So we tell them nothing?”

Taehyung smiles back. “We tell them nothing.” And then, like he can’t help it, he begins, “But still, I’m sorry—”

“Didn’t I say no more apologies?” Jimin asks, leaning his weight into Taehyung. He climbs on top of Taehyung and kisses him until his apologies dissolve into moans.

✢

UH-OH. . . SLOPPY CELEBRATIONS!

It’s no surprise that the Under the Lights: Runway Tour clan would be out painting the town red last night. They’re on a high—two incredibly successful shows in New York despite the odds being against them. They reeled in rising star (and troublemaker) Taehyung Kim halfway through their tour and scrambled to make their production presentable. But they’ve done it without a blip. Bravo to them!

And while we’d be lying to say we were shocked to see notorious party animal Taehyung getting a little messy, who we didn’t expect was straight-and-narrow producer Jimin Park to be caught on the scene! The two were spotted stumbling out of the party arm and arm! It’d be an understatement to say Taehyung appeared to be a bit, ummm. . . incapacitated (!!), and Jimin was seen all but carrying him into an all-black car.

Now, correct us if we’re wrong, but—don’t these two hate each other?! Last we heard these two stars were going neck in neck. Looks like a lot has changed between them.

We’ve got our eyes on them, this looks juicy!

_________

ENEMIES TO. . . WHAT, EXACTLY?

Maybe it’s just us, but we wouldn’t arrive at an unspeakable hour in the morning just to help an employee home after a night of not being able to handle their liquor. But maybe we’re just terrible humans! Regardless, our sources say established fashion producer Jimin Park was spotted on the scene of last night’s rager just long enough to get his lead model Kim Taehyung and leave!

Suspicious? We think so too!

And you didn’t hear this from us (but you absolutely did!), but we’ve been tipped off that Mr. All-Work-No-Play Park didn’t just drop Taehyung off at his hotel, but they went home together! Now, we don’t wanna assume (but we absolutely will!), but there seems to be a little more than a professional relationship brewing between the two stars! First they were enemies, now they’re. . . what, exactly?

Our money’s on secret lovers and we so hope we’re right!

✢

Being held hostage in his office wasn’t how Jimin expected his day to start. But Hoseok is blocking the only exit, face as red as a tomato, pointing to his phone. “You let me find out through Twitter,” he spits. Enraged, disgusted. “f*ckin’ Twitter.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jimin says, but he knows there’s no real point in keeping this from Hoseok anymore. Honestly, it’s just too entertaining to see him try to speed-process all of his emotions. Jimin can’t resist milking it a little longer.

Hoseok’s hand balls into a loose fist. “You and baby Satan were prancing around New York having spicy hate-sex behind my back, and you let me find out through Twitter?!”

Jimin lifts an eyebrow. “Prancing?”

“I’ll f*ckin’ slit your throat.”

God, Jimin’s lungs will burst if he holds in his laughter any longer. He can’t take it. He doubles over, laughing so hard his stomach hurts and his eyes water. Hoseok, on the other hand, is not amused by any of this. And honestly, Jimin gets it. They’re best friends; he expected to know before the world did. But in Jimin’s defense, if it were up to him, no one would know right now.

“Okay,” Jimin surrenders. “Okay, yeah, I’m sorry.”

He composes himself, and wipes his tears of laughter. He needs this, honestly. A good laugh to start his day, because he’s been dreading going out in front of his models, knowing they’ve read the rumors too. They’ve all come to their own conclusions, and Jimin knows they all look at him differently now.

The thing Jimin hates most is the idea of losing their respect. He doesn’t want to be known as the sketchy producer that sleeps with his models. Because that’s not who he is at all. But that doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is what the media says and the reputation that follows. Jimin understands Taehyung a little more nowadays.

Hoseok’s eyes resemble the size of pizzas. “So it’s true?” he asks. “Like—you’re together?”

Jimin isn’t sure if this short amount of time that mainly consisted of them sneaking around makes them “together,” but he knows what Hoseok is asking. He’s asking if it’s true, if there’s something real happening between him and Taehyung. And honestly, Jimin doesn’t want to lie anymore to anyone he doesn’t have to. His best friend is at the top of the list.

“We’re. . . taking it slow.” Jimin chooses his words carefully. “But I care about him—a lot. Like, a lot more than I ever thought I would. And I wanna keep seeing him and see where it goes.”

This time, Hoseok’s eyes soften. Jimin swears there are tears in them. An actor. Hoseok should’ve been a goddamn actor.

He covers his mouth dramatically. “My little Jiminie,” he fake-sobs. Hoseok wipes a pretend tear. “They grow up so fast.”

Jimin’s had enough.

“Oh, f*ck off.”

He’s pushing Hoseok out of the way and pulling at the doorknob now. He should’ve known this is how Hoseok would take the news.

“But for real,” Hoseok yell-whispers as he follows Jimin out the door. “Does this mean you can set me up with his agent because holy fu—”

Jimin smacks Hoseok’s shoulder and then laughs. There’s truly no one who can put him in a good mood like his best friend. So Jimin just smiles and says, “We’ll see.”

✢

Jimin felt it in the air when he arrived on the stage. He knows there were members of the team hushing away comments about what they’ve read on their phones. But they don’t address Jimin with it, so Jimin doesn’t address them.

It happens no more than an hour into practice. Jimin tries his best to come up with new formations and new lines for the models to walk every show. Because it’s not just a runway show, it’s a whole performance, a production. There are critics that come to every single show, and the last thing Jimin wants them to be able to say is they were bored. So each performance is a little different.

Honestly, after setting his mind to work mode, Jimin nearly forgot the whole world was buzzing about his and Taehyung’s personal life. Didn’t even think twice about suggesting Taehyung for a specific position until someone, Michael, scoffed, “Of course you pick him.”

Jimin stops, freezes mid-sentence. Squints his eyes and asks, “What did you say?”

Usually, Jimin’s above going back and forth with his employees, but he was already a little on edge. On edge about this exact moment. So he thinks he can be forgiven for going from zero to one hundred without much of a taunt. Because when Michael remains silent, Jimin steps forward and says, “No, I mean it. Say it again.”

This time, the other models take a step back—everyone except Taehyung. And somewhere in Jimin’s mind, he knows this really looks bad. But he doesn’t care. Not right now.

Michael’s never been one to back down from a challenge. He’s a bull-headed, smart-mouthed guy from Chicago. Has an accent that Jimin has to take a moment to decipher in his head sometimes. Michael’s a tough guy, but Jimin’s positive he’s tougher.

“I’m just sayin’,” Michael shrugs. “New center spot opens up in this fancy new formation you’ve thought of, and it’s a no-brainer he gets it.”

It’s the way Michael spits out ‘he,’says it with so much disdain that Jimin sees Taehyung’s eyebrows furrow in pure shock. He and Michael have never gotten along. Almost beat each other’s faces in no more than a month or so ago. To be honest, Jimin isn’t surprised he’s the one to make the first comment.

But Jimin isn’t taking the bait that easily. If Michael has something to say, he will have to say it to Jimin’s face. Loud and clear. Like a man.

So Jimin tips his head to the side and asks emptily, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Michael mumbles.

“No, I don’t,” Jimin says back. “So if you have something to say, say it.”

Everyone’s staring at them. Jimin hates this, he really does, but it feels necessary. Taehyung’s giving him a look with his eyes that says this is the opposite of telling them nothing! Jimin knows that, but he’s not gonna stand being disrespected on his own set.

“I’m just saying,” Michael continues. “It’s not shocking that Taehyung gets to be center all the time.”

Flatly, annoyed, Jimin responds, “He’s center because he’s the lead.”

Michael laughs, but it’s a dirty, sarcastic laugh. Snarls under his breath but intentionally loud enough for everyone to hear, “Yeah, I’d be lead too if I was f*ckin’ my boss.”

The room goes so silent a pin could be heard dropping. Breaths caught in lungs, mouths hung open, hearts stopped. Jimin sees it in slow motion. Sees the models covering their mouths in shock. Sees Michael smirking in triumph. Sees Jeongguk rushing to grab Taehyung before he attacks.

But before any of that could happen, Jimin squares his jaw and thunders, “You’re fired. Get the f*ck off my stage.”

Michael stops mid-high five with another model Jimin considers booting too. Face goes from a satisfied bully on the playground to someone who just realized they can no longer pay their bills. His face goes white. “What?”

“You heard me,” is all Jimin says, crossing his arms.

And for a few moments, Michael just stares at him. Like maybe it’s a test. Like maybe if he stands still long enough Jimin will move on. But that’s not how this works. Jimin knew he was going to have to make a spectacle of someone. Michael chose to be it.

“What?” Michael says again. He chuckles through the pain of knowing he can’t take it back. He takes another step forward and says, “Our last show is in less than two weeks. You’re gonna fire me now? ”

Jimin remains firm in his decision. Even when he knows this means they’re going to have to work hard to make up for being down one person. Maybe more if others decide to follow in Michael’s footsteps. Formations will have to be adjusted. Plans will have to be reworked. But Jimin has a point to make, so he doesn’t let any of that sway him.

“You fired yourself. Get your sh*t and go,” Jimin tells him.

Michael only stands there for a few moments before it becomes embarrassing for him. He blinks and then shakes his head. Mumbles, “This is f*ckin’ bullsh*t,” as he walks off the stage for the last time.

When he’s gone, the quiet remains. After a solid minute of nothingness, Jimin asks them like he’s genuinely intrigued, “Anyone else have a comment?”

The silence continues.

Jimin waits.

And waits some more.

And when it’s apparent no one else dares to put their job on the line, Jimin claps his hands and says, “Good. Now let’s get back to work. We don’t have a lot of time to make some magic.”

The models get back into formation and wait for Jimin’s next command without another word. It’s apparent then that no one else will say anything out of turn.

And maybe it’s a little harsh, but that’s the tone Jimin sets early. Any snippy comments—especially directly at him—about his personal life result in being cut from the team. And maybe that makes him a bit of a tyrant, impeding on their free speech or whatever, but Jimin calls it listening to his instinctual need to protect. His home, his career, himself, Taehyung.

Jimin catches Taehyung’s eye and sees him half-smile. But that’s it. They don’t talk any more than they need to at practice, no special treatment, no (noticeable) lingering glances. One thing they both know how to do is be professional. It’s both of their careers and both of their lives on the line if they don’t, and they respect each other too much to ruin it.

The only whispers for the rest of the practice are about work and the upcoming show. There’s still a little tension, sure. The elephant remains in the room. But it’s workable, and the environment is respectable.

That’s all Jimin can ask for.

✢

MODEL MICHAEL LANG FIRED FROM
UNDER THE LIGHTS: RUNWAY TOUR

Maaaan dooown . . . again?! We’re starting to notice a pattern here, and it’s that employees of Jimin Park’s groundbreaking runway tour tend to not stay employees. What’s in the air over there that sends people running? Well, in this case, we’ve been told that former model Michael Lang was kicked off the stage for good by the boss himself. And our secret source tells us it was because Lang said something raunchy about coworker Taehyung Kim in regards to the rumors brewing about a possible romantic relationship between Kim and Park! Seems Park, well known for being level-headed and business-only, lost his cool over Lang’s choice words and sent him packing.

Sticking up for your top-secret lover? Sexy. But abusing your power over a little comment? Not sexy. We’re all shaking our heads at you, Jimin. Not cool.

✢

The following week and a half is hard f*cking work. It’s hell. Between long rehearsals, headache-inducing decisions about budgets and lighting and fabrics, invasive interviews that leave Jimin feeling nauseous and assaulted, and finding his email flooded with companies asking him to make just one quick comment about him and—, Jimin’s had it up to here with all of it.

But—

“Have you ever f*cked on a balcony before?”

—being with Taehyung has made it all worth it.

The sky's the clearest Jimin has ever seen it. No clouds in sight, just shining stars. It looks like a painting. Gold specks on a pure blue-black canvas. Taehyung told Jimin recently that he’s into painting. The sky right now makes Jimin think it’s something Taehyung would paint. Simplistic yet intricate. Beautiful yet natural. Just like him.

Jimin giggles around his swig of white wine. “What?”

They’ve made it sort of a tradition to spend the night before a show together. It worked out last time. Besides, they’ve also been making it a habit to spend nearly every night together, so in a way, tonight was inevitable.

Taehyung’s bold all the time, but even more so when he’s tipsy. All of the stars settle in his eyes as he settles on Jimin’s lap. They’re back at the place Taehyung took Jimin before. Their hiding spot.

“I said,” Taehyung starts. He tips his head and kisses at Jimin’s neck. “Have you ever,” another kiss, more tongue than lips this time, “f*cked,” a soft grind of his hips, another kiss, “on a balcony?”

God, Taehyung is more intoxicating than any alcohol Jimin’s ever consumed. His hand comes to Taehyung’s ass and squeezes. He pulls Taehyung toward him and lifts his hips ever so slightly, giving him the faintest bit of friction. And Taehyung, face still buried in Jimin’s neck, rewards him with the prettiest of whimpers.

“No,” Jimin admits. “I never have.”

And he can’t resist anymore, he uses his other hand to cup Taehyung’s chin and brings him to eye level. He kisses him deeply, tongues meeting hungrily. Taehyung tastes like wine and desire, Jimin’s favorite flavor.

“Hmm,” Taehyung pretends to ponder. He licks at Jimin’s mouth and smiles. “I think tonight is the perfect night for firsts.”

He’s in smooth, chocolate-colored slacks that pinch at his waist, showing it off, but giving his legs some room to breathe. Does nothing to hide the plumpness of his ass, though. Jimin’s been looking all night, fighting back urges. And currently, they’re also failing at keeping his growing excitement at bay. But that’s equally as sexy. With only a form-fitting white tee on top, Taehyung’s nearly begging for Jimin to undress him and take him right here.

Jimin’s hand finds a home curled around Taehyung’s throat. It’s mostly to keep him in place for their next kiss, but Jimin likes the way Taehyung leans into it, wanting him to control his air a little bit.

When they break away from the kiss, Jimin says, “Out here, baby? What if someone sees?”

That’s the beauty of this place, though. It’s hidden in plain sight. Their balcony view is blocked by tall, thick trees. No one is going to see them. No one that’s going to go blab to the highest paying magazine or blog, that is. But the thought, the implication that someone might be watching, is sexy to them. They’ve turned their biggest fear into a kink.

“Good,” Taehyung says, with a soft pout and a one-shouldered shrug. He’s rocking his hips as he undoes Jimin’s black button-up. He leans forward and kisses a trail down his chest as he works. “I hope they tape it and post it on the internet.”

And at that, Jimin can only laugh. Nothing is scary when he’s with Taehyung. It’s all just bliss.

✢

JIMIN PARK & TAEHYUNG KIM:
NEWEST POWER COUPLE?

There is nothing sexier than a couple who can be gorgeous and successful together. Jimin Park and Taehyung Kim—although still not officially confirmed as an item—are on top of the world following their third and final show of the North American stint of the tour! With the show broadcasted live, it raked in over 2 million viewers as well as a sold-out audience. Park’s models adorned the latest fall line from Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, and Burberry, and were flawless on the runway. And as much as critics tried, there wasn’t one negative thing anyone could write about such a beautiful production!

As much as everyone’s hopes were up for Kim to sign on for the rest of the tour, it’s been confirmed that the superstar is already booked in Australia for the next few weeks. But before you get your tissues, there’s been some buzz that he might make another guest appearance when the tour touches down in Seoul in November! Fingers crossed.

Despite the two being spotted all over the city together these past few weeks—in restaurants, hotels, and bars—they still refuse to confirm or deny anything more than a professional relationship. One of our reporters caught Park yesterday and asked him if he could give us an update on the status of his and the stunning model’s relationship, and he said—and this is a direct quote!— “None of your goddamn business.”

✢

They aren’t due to land for three more hours. All of these years of travel, Jimin thinks he should be used to it by now, but being in the air for too long still makes him antsy. Clicking through the most gossipy part of the internet isn’t helping either. Especially when all of the talk is about them.

“I read the article—‘none of your goddamn business'?” Taehyung says, hand squeezing playfully on Jimin’s upper thigh. Smirks and adds, “You’re gettin’ kinda mean, angel. It’s pretty sexy.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. Taehyung is definitely taking all of this much better than Jimin. Honestly, Jimin doesn’t know how he stays so calm. How he always knows what to say when there are phones and bright lights shoved in his face. Jimin isn’t used to this. He doesn’t know how to cope with the public snooping in on his personal life, wanting to know who he’s kissing and why. It makes his skin crawl and it makes him angry. So yeah, when the reporters rush him on the streets begging him for details on his relationship—(and, not that the world needs to know, but they are official)—he tends to get a little mean.

“They deserve it,” Jimin mutters.

He knows he shouldn’t be in such a grumpy mood. There’s a break in the tour between New York and London. Jimin has a few days off. Taehyung’s off for a week before he shoots for Armani in Australia. So they’re taking a detour and disappearing in Japan for a few days. Their schedules aren’t listed anywhere, private jet, the hotel purchased under aliases, completely off the grid. They don’t have any plans for what they’ll do in Japan, but Jimin doubts they’ll even make it off the bed anyway. He’s not worried about how they’ll manage to pass the time.

Taehyung’s hand squeezes again. “They do,” he begins, “but I hate to see them getting under your skin.”

Jimin’s heavy exhale through his nose is the only response he can muster. He doesn’t like admitting that all of this is getting to him, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t bothered at all. It’s impossible to get used to being in the public eye.

“We’ll be fine,” is what Jimin eventually settles on. Because this isn’t just about him, and he knows Taehyung’s exterior isn’t as tough as he makes it seem. He knows this is getting to him too.

“I know we will,” Taehyung whispers, gaze angled downward.

Jimin leans over and kisses him, settling both of their nerves. He pets Taehyung’s cheek with his thumb, feeling his soft skin under the pad of his finger. Taehyung’s tongue teases Jimin’s, only for a second, just long enough to make them both smile. When they pull back, they can breathe again.

So they’ll go to Japan and take each other apart only to gently, carefully put each other back together. They’ll hide under the blankets and pretend no one is outside. They’ll order in and watch movies and tell each other things they’ve never told anyone. They’ll learn each other’s hearts just as well as they’ve learned each other’s bodies. And then they’ll sew their hearts together, just a little, right at the corner, to remind each other that no matter what happens when they finally leave that bed, they’ll still have each other.

And then, in a few weeks, Taehyung will rejoin the tour in Seoul and they’ll continue to make history. Because they have the world in the palm of their hand right now, and they’d be damned if they drop it.